Eterna
by BlitheringBard
Summary: Sequel to Otherworld. The final battle has been won, or has it? A warrior must embark on a new pilgrimage, one of the heart. [complete]
1. A Hero's Welcome

Disclaimer: All things FFX belong to Square and never, at any time, have I attempted to identify boiled chicken parts.  
  
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This story is rated PG-13 for a bloody-good reason and contains:  
  
Spoilers? Without delay. Swearing? You betcha. Adult situations? Uh huh. Angst? Yup, that too.  
  
All simmered together in a sassy Auron-sama-red-sauce with a dash of levity and served over a bed of mush... fweeee!!  
  
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Eterna: Chapter 1 -- A Hero's Welcome  
  
There were numerous ways he had envisioned himself greeting the infinite, but a violent bout of dry-heaves had definitely not been one of them.  
  
A cold-sweat broke out along his brow and upper lip as his gloved hand blindly reached for the familiar comfort of his katana. The weapon that had ushered countless enemies from the land of the living was now used as a crutch to assist the nauseated warrior to his feet.  
  
"Hmph."  
  
He was almost certain that he should have arrived here in a state of overwhelming euphoria, his friends waiting with open arms. Instead, he had emerged on the far side of the veil retching and alone. Perhaps it was the Farplane's way of letting him know he was late -- over a decade late, as a matter of fact. Despite that, he really should find the manager and demand a refund.  
  
Shifting the pommel of his sword to rest under his left forearm, he disengaged his jug from his hip. He absently observed that his hand was shaking as he brought the clay container to his lips, intending to rid his palate of the foul residue that coated it. But no sooner had the rice-wine begun to wash across his tongue than he was turning his head to eject it in a wet spray. The taste had gone flat and wooden; the liquid had lost all resemblance to its original form.  
  
Wonderful. Now his mouth felt like the inside of a gym-locker.  
  
"Stop whining and move."  
  
Delivering a eulogy to his departed beverage of choice by way of a short sigh, the large loop of beads rattled softly as he re-attached the rough pottery to his side. With a practiced flourish, he flipped his blade to his shoulder and turned his back to the mound of rock where he had materialized to take in the scenery.  
  
What met his gaze stunned him beyond comprehension. An involuntary intake of breath hissed through his teeth as his left hand shot to the bridge of his nose to yank his glasses off, his eye squinted in effort. He was convinced that his impaired vision was playing tricks on him.  
  
A monochrome, lifeless expanse stretched out in all directions as far as his shocked inspection could reach. The environment was completely devoid of vegetation. Its drab surface appeared gray and calcified -- shallow craters scattered across its dry skin like an angry rash. The occasional up thrust of jagged rocks were the only vertical features on its arid, crusty face. Even the sky was dim and colorless: no clouds, no sun, nothing to interrupt the atmosphere, not even wind disturbed the perfect stillness that surrounded him.  
  
Raising his chin slightly, Auron sniffed at the air, hoping to catch a scent of something... anything... pleasant or otherwise, but nothing met his keen sense. This place was utterly desolate and he began to formulate a disturbing hypothesis: that the final defeat of Sin and the destruction of Yu Yevon, had somehow caused a catastrophic change in the Farplane -- a parting shot from the false deity.  
  
If the theory held true, then he must entertain the possibility that he would be spending eternity in isolation -- this barren world presenting no evidence to the contrary. The beginnings of an anxious knot began to twist in the pit of his stomach with these thoughts. He fought the sudden urge to call out, the names of his friends balanced on the edge of a desperate verbalization. His throat constricted, he choked back the comforting monikers and fought the emotions that threatened his control.  
  
What did he care for company? He only had need of peace and quiet -- the solitude offered here was fine with him.  
  
"Just fine," he growled, jamming his glasses back to his face with one hand, the other twitching the blade that spanned his shoulder as he strode forward into the empty landscape.  
  
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Keeping his mind safely occupied with the mundane details around him, the warrior monk had marched forward for quite some time. He proceeded in what he hoped was a reasonably straight line, the small crags of rock formations used as a reference. When he noted the terrain had begun to change up ahead, Auron stopped to take stock of his surroundings and decide upon a course change if needed.  
  
The low crags become denser up ahead, the craters replaced by erosion faults in the hard crust running away into the distance. Directly in front of him was an ancient streambed; its parched surface had not seen whatever liquid had created it for what looked like centuries.  
  
"Where to now, I wonder?"  
  
"Are you aware that you're talking to yourself?"  
  
"Yes... quite aware, old monk."  
  
Chuckling, Auron set out along the makeshift path -- the sound of his boots crunching against the loose topsoil of the eroded gully, a fitting accompaniment to his dry amusement.  
  
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A mountain had begun to grow on the horizon and Auron quickened his pace to meet it, mildly encouraged by the sight of the imposing peak that rose up sharply from the flat of the basin. He was now presented with two choices: either to follow the base in one direction or another, or to go up.  
  
"Up," Auron said tonelessly, eyeing the unstable looking rock-bed that covered the base of the mountain, its broad expanse like the shoulder of a sleeping gray giant. The angle of repose was risky, but he was fairly sure he could muscle his way up the vast scree field, despite its steep grade. Only one way to find out, he thought as he began to traverse the precipitous incline while moving in short, compressed bursts of energy. His powerful legs maintained a steady ascent, his weight braced by his free hand when needed.  
  
He had made a satisfying amount of progress when a large slab of talus suddenly gave way beneath him. The avalanche of small rocks acted like rough ball bearings under his boots. Auron valiantly fought to keep his feet, but lost the battle as he went down on his right side. The flat of his katana pinned beneath him acted like a steel ski, sending him skittering down the mountainside with increasing velocity and friction sparks spraying out in his wake.  
  
Releasing his grip on his sword, Auron rolled face-first against the surging rock and thrust his hands into the sharp sea in an attempt to slow his rapid descent. The rock swell ignored the effort, and he continued to pick up speed. Auron flipped onto his back as he helplessly rode the wave of stone to the bottom, tucking into a roll when he reached the flat. His body finally jolted to a stop amid a thick cloud of dust.  
  
Auron remained sprawled on his back for several minutes while his over-taxed lungs pushed the dusty surface of his chest plate rapidly up and down in a ragged rhythm. When his breathing became more regular, he propped himself up on his elbows. Then, he shifted uncomfortably as the debris field his fall had brought down the mountainside painfully dug into the parts of his body pressing against it. He didn't need to look at himself to know he was a mess; he felt the multitude of cuts and scrapes clearly enough as to not require visual confirmation. But he didn't think he had broken any bones and that was something.  
  
Rising to a sitting position, Auron winced, then brought his left hand up to inspect its ruined palm, the flesh lacerated to the bone by the ragged shards of rock. Intending to release a choice epithet or two, Auron instead sneezed. His head snapped forward, shooting his glasses into his lap, and he paused for a moment to contemplate the irony of it. The shades had somehow managed to stay in place while he body-surfed a wave of rock down a mountainside only to be catapulted from his face by a mere sternutation.  
  
"Just another wondrous mystery, here in paradise," Auron said, returning his attention to his hand, which was still poised in the air in front of him. His eye widening, Auron watched the deep wound heal itself, the bloody fissure closing like a seductive wink against his skin, then fading to a deep pink. Extending the limb, he then observed the cross-hatching of shallower cuts that ran the length of his arm similarly fade and then disappear. Fascinated, Auron ran his fingers along his forehead and felt the rapidly healing cuts there tickling the nerve endings of his fingertips as the skin sealed, until only the deep scar above his eye remained.  
  
"Handy," Auron remarked, thinking that if the need for healing magic and potions were no longer necessary, half of Spira would be out of business. Then he smirked, realizing that was already the case for the most part, now that Sin was gone. He was tempted to dwell upon this line of thought but promptly cut it off; reflecting on the past was counter-productive -- he had a mountain to conquer.  
  
Stowing his scuffed-up glasses inside his robe, Auron rose stiffly to his feet. Refusing to dust himself off, he glared at the crumbling massif like he would any enemy or obstacle that foolishly chose to impede him. He welcomed the challenge the massive facade was offering. It would keep his thoughts from wandering to subjects best left unscrutinized. His eye narrowing, Auron moved to retrieve his sword, which had come to rest a short distance off to his left, then willfully exiled the remaining pain in his hand from his awareness as he proceeded to attack the mountain.  
  
Striding to the base and settling into a wide stance, he was unable to stop himself from thinking about what a poor use of the weapon this was. What he was about to do would wreak havoc with its edge, but he raised the great blade in a dual-handed grasp anyway, then with a low grunt of effort drove the curved tip into the flank of the escarpment. The steel held fast as he pulled his body up to meet it and he thought, so far, so good. Pivoting the toes of his boots rapidly from side to side, he dug in to the precarious scree of the incline; the action sending spalls of rock flowing down behind him in a gray river.  
  
Now came the difficulty: how to remove his sword and bury it above once more, before his footing was lost. Haste should do nicely. Summoning the incantation into his mind, Auron waited for the crimson glow that would tell him the spell was ready to cast, but it did not appear. Frowning, he closed his eye, focusing harder -- still nothing.  
  
"Marvelous," Auron said, as he threw his weight forward and extracted his sword from the mountainside, its metal singing against the rubble for a brief moment, then plunged it back into the ground above him. His feet once again threatened to go out from under him as they scrambled for purchase, but his superior upper-body strength managed to stay his fall and his arms bulged as they hauled his weight to the flat of his blade.  
  
"Hn," Auron grunted, acknowledging the small triumph. Then he steadied himself to move again, and then again, relentlessly battling his way up the face of the deadly bluff.  
  
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He had slipped several times and the sharp rocks had gouged deep troughs of skin from his bared hand and arm. He was grateful that he could essentially ignore his injuries, as the torn flesh healed rapidly while he continued his struggle. A relatively firm section of rock had presented itself and he had taken the opportunity to rest for a moment, his body carefully positioned to maximize the downward pressure on his boots. Rotating his head to one side and lifting his chin, Auron spat, attempting to expectorate the debris from his throat and lungs. His collar had helped, but the inhalation of particles was unavoidable and had begun to feel like broken glass in his chest. He contemplated reaching for his jug of dead-sake, then decided he preferred the taste of this mountain over the contents of the inanimate companion dangling from his hip. An ironic smile curved at the edges of his mouth as he realized that this was the first time the jug would fail to bring him comfort. Its presence had seen him through many hardships, both physical and emotional, and in many ways it was the closest friend he had.  
  
"Pitiful," he uttered in a gravely rasp, carefully tilting his head back to check the terrain. He saw that the loose scrabble gave way to solid rock just a few yards above him, and allowed himself a sigh of relief. He immediately regretted it, as the exhale turned into an excruciating fit of coughing. When the agonizing spasms had subsided, he turned his attention back to the cliff face, redistributed his balance, sheathed his sword behind him, then quickly adjusted again to compensate for the sudden shift of weight at his back. If he fell now, it was a long trip to the bottom and he had no desire to be forced to start over. Not to mention the discomfort involved.  
  
Scanning the headwall above him, he took some time to decide upon the best route. He studied the indentation patterns and decided on one that appeared to have the best placement of holds and edges. Unfortunately, it would require him to jump for the first hold and if he missed it... Legendary Guardian Gumbo.  
  
Chuckling, Auron gathered himself and pushed off the bedrock, launching his body toward the pocket in the cliff. His gloved hand shot out to grasp the precious hold, and for a split-second the leather slipped on the smooth surface before his strong fingers locked onto the stone. His body swung out like an opening door for a moment before the additional weight of his right side brought him back to the face, his jug digging in to his hip as he panged off the side. He hung there for a few moments until his momentum stilled, then cranked himself upward. His left hand reached out to a side hold while his boot simultaneously sought the edge below it; his right boot followed suit, lodging itself against a larger edge below and to his right. His body now safely stable, Auron continued up the rock face; resembling a large, red arachnid, he moved with graceful power through the ascent route.  
  
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He had no idea how long he had been climbing and he surmised it made little difference in this place. He could spend eons struggling up the face of this damned monolith, and it would be nothing more than a drop-in-the-bucket to the Farplane. The adage made him think of water and he unconsciously ran his tongue over his cracked lips at the thought. This was irritating to say the least. How was it that his body could feel thirst or pain? He had assumed the laws of the corporeal would no longer bind him here. Perhaps it was strictly a mental lapse. His mind might not have caught up with reality. He had spent nearly a third of his existence as an Unsent; logic suggested he would be a natural for this stage of the game. Apparently, his weaknesses had graciously agreed to follow him here while his useful attributes, such as magic, had conveniently decided to take-a-powder.  
  
"This is going to be some journey," he said to the rocks looming inches from his face, then realized that he had used those very words once before. When was it?  
  
"Never mind, you addlebrained fool... just get going."  
  
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Auron's mind and body had gone into a trance-like detachment some time ago. His only thoughts were for the next handhold, the next boot-ledge, and the proper angle of ascent. So it was that the smell took him completely unaware, jolting him from his concentration and forcing him to clench his frame for a moment as the sudden lapse nearly caused him to lose his balance. The ragged fingers of his bared hand went white as he gripped the edge of the shallow hold above him. Rapid pumping of blood to his arm created a web of distended veins along the surface of the skin as he fought to regain his center of gravity. Blinking away the stinging sweat that had run into his eye, he slowly bent his head back to look above him.  
  
He had reached the summit.  
  
The top of the mountain rolled outward in a thick ridge, like the crest of a wave breaking over the side. Clinging tenaciously to its edge was a carpet of new grass; the fragile blades were bent towards him as if in greeting, nodding as an unseen breeze that carried the rich scent of the fresh sod to his dusty nose swept across the plateau above.  
  
Auron was quite certain he had never seen or smelled anything so beautiful and fragrant...  
  
Life.  
  
And simple though it was, it held the hope of more complex forms up to his forsaken spirit, shining with the possibility that he may not be alone after all. 


	2. Perception and Reality

Eterna: Chapter 2 -- Perception and Reality  
  
  
  
  
My mind is calm. My body is focused.  
  
The words repeated silently through Auron's mind, his eye closed and his lips parted in a meditative state as he prepared himself for the next few minutes. He knew this was the most perilous part of the climb. His concentration could easily be lost in his eagerness to reach the plateau above him.  
  
He opened his eye and took in a wheezing breath, then began to move deliberately up the remaining section of rock. Finally, he reached upward to break through the surface of the grassy soil, his fingers digging into the brim of the mountain's cap, and pulled himself to the top. He swung one leg up to briefly brace himself, and then rolled up onto the flat ground. Not caring about his surroundings for the moment, he lay there, giving his strained muscles a break and enjoying the soft breeze that brushed against his face and hair like a lover's kiss.  
  
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When he felt sufficiently rested, Auron sat up and took in the new environment. The high plateau was like an island, its shape a crescent moon suspended in space. There were still no clouds or sun yet to be seen, but the light here was warmer and brighter and the ozone was fresh. Small projections of rock, unlike those below, were covered in thick veneers of lichen; the air was redolent with the scent of the pungent growth. The wide expanse of open grassland was dotted with small patches of low-growing wildflowers -- bright little interruptions of yellow and white against the steady green that seemed to be doing their utmost to make up for what was absent from the sky.  
  
Then Auron caught the scent of something even more appealing than the vegetation, and he stood up to move in the direction his nose was leading him. He didn't travel far before the sound of rushing water met his ears. A large tower of spring-moistened rock jutted from the surrounding flatness, sparkling cascades of clear water flowing down its moss covered face in a rain bowed mist to collect in a shallow pool at its base.  
  
Walking toward the inviting sight in quickening strides, Auron lowered his sword to the ground. He then ripped his collar off, along with the tie that bound his hair, followed closely by his belt, glove, and robe. His chest plate fell as he began to hop on one foot and then the other, ridding himself of his boots. Then he shoved his pants down and stepped out of them, leaving a trail of dusty garments in the grass as he plowed forward through the crystal water and dropped to his haunches.  
  
He cupped his hand beneath the surface and scooped the ankle-deep contents of the pool into his mouth, ignoring the dribbles that ran down his chin and neck as he sampled the crisp purity a second time. Then he leaned forward onto his hands and knees and submerged his dust-coated head. A gasp of pleasure issued from him as he straightened back up and whipped his head back, his dark hair blackened further by the soothing moisture. Steady droplets rained onto his broad shoulders then proceeded down his back and chest in narrowing rivulets, leaving clean tracks of warm color through the gray layer of grime on his skin. His eyes closed in contentment, Auron remained in the shallow bath for a while, splashing water up onto his dust-coated body as he cleansed himself of the dead world he had left behind him.  
  
When at last he reluctantly exited the water, Auron waded up onto the low bank, then arched his back and stretched his arms out from his sides. He moved in a slow circle, letting the wind caress him dry while he drew long, deep breaths through his mouth and nose. It was so sweet, he thought -- the air was like wine.  
  
Then something else slowly began to intrude upon his awareness and he dropped his arms and tilted his head to one side as he became fully cognizant of what it was. It was much more than just feeling clean and refreshed.  
  
He felt good.  
  
Dropping his chin, he looked down at himself, noting the scars that paraded down his warrior's body were still there. But the myriad of dull aches that had always plagued him for as long as he could remember, a life's history of wounds, the years of accumulated bone-breaks, punctures and torn ligaments were gone; in their place was a sense of ease and perfect wellness.  
  
His vision seemed improved as well, but that was not so unusual. He had at times been granted that illusion, like the ghost sensation one feels for a missing limb, years after its departure.  
  
Curious, he reached up to his face. He could feel the scar tissue, above and below, but his right eye had been released from its imprisonment of sealed flesh and seemed to be functioning normally. Deciding to test this theory, he squeezed his left eye closed and looked down to study the small blades of bright turf that sprouted around the toes of his feet.  
  
"I'll be damned," Auron said. He then thought he should be reacting with a little more enthusiasm at having regained his sight, but he just felt too placid at the moment to disturb his thoughts or the surroundings by dancing around in a nude jig. Besides, he may have been renewed, but he was still who he was at the core of himself. No miracle, large or small, could ever sway him from that. In the future, he would recall these thoughts and have a good laugh at his own stubborn foolishness -- when he came to understand it was more than just his eye that had been blind.  
  
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As was his habit, Auron had thought to quickly be about moving on, but then had determined there was in reality, no rush. The sky had begun to dim again, not dully like before, but in slow, darkening shades. This occurrence told him there was indeed a day and night here, however subtle, and so he settled in for its duration.  
  
Not willing to don his filthy clothes over the clean of his body, he dragged the lot to the pool's edge and washed them as best he could. Planting his sword into the soft soil nearby, he hung his robe and pants from the pommel to dry. First a pickaxe, now a clothesline, Auron thought, as he regarded the strange scarecrow in a mild chagrin; surely his continued disrespect for the weapon would result in his Warrior's license being revoked forthwith.  
  
Rebuked. Censured. Exiled.  
  
Auron restlessly ran a hand through his damp hair, the fault lines deepening above the bridge of his nose. His mind was wandering again and he grew weary of this nagging tickle at the back of his thoughts. There was... something. Something he should know, but it hovered just outside his grasp, dancing forward to stab at his awareness then retreating back before it could be fully realized.  
  
He did not care for this -- by rights he should only be feeling relief. He had earned his rest, fulfilled his promises. Jecht and Spira had been released from their long torment. Yuna and the others were safe -- they were free now to explore their stories unafraid and to tend what he had left in their keeping -- and yet he had repeatedly teetered on the edge of control since arriving here. Granted, things had not gone as expected, but that was hardly a reason to be feeling so uneasy. So lost. He had been through worse -- much worse. Rolling with the punches was his stock-and-trade.  
  
This was futile. He was sending himself in circles with these thoughts. He would just get some sleep and go forward at first light. Perhaps the new day would grant him a measure of clarity.  
  
Auron lay down on his side in the grass beneath his sword, then pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Completely unaware that he had just curled into a fetal position, his troubled mind escaped into unconsciousness.  
  
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"We must talk."  
  
"As you wish, but don't expect me to take you seriously."  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning you're quite naked and holding a conversation with yourself... this does not engender credibility."  
  
"Your mockery reveals fear."  
  
"I fear nothing."  
  
"Then explain why you still feel the need to think of yourself in terms of the past."  
  
"I am fully aware of my current status."  
  
"You are not. Your thoughts and actions belie that."  
  
"This peevishness begins to bore me. Get to the point."  
  
"Very well. The words you spoke aloud when you realized you had regained your sight alluded to the truth... you have been damned."  
  
Then his dream-self finally articulated what his waking-self feared, but could not admit to. That he had been served the fruits of his labors -- the evidence was all around him and he must come to terms with it. He had been sentenced to this existence: not real, but forced to feel so -- needing human contact, but denied it. This was not paradise, it was the opposite, and he had brought it upon himself. He had broken covenants, ignored all the rules, used whatever and whoever was necessary to attain his goals, and now justice had been meted out.  
  
Auron moaned softly in his sleep and his dreams moved on, filled with jumbled-images of all the worlds he had traveled -- the worlds he had forever changed through his deeds.  
  
And he feared they had all passed judgment -- and found him wanting. 


	3. The Prodigal Sun

Eterna: Chapter 3 -- The Prodigal Sun  
  
  
  
  
Diluted light had begun to infuse the sky -- the murmuring of approaching dawn insufficient to wake the lone figure curled in sleep; his arms wrapped around his boots, their leather surfaces a poor substitute for a pillow.  
  
Then the piercing eyes snapped open, the disquieting dreams tattered and gone as the Guardian sensed something close by -- and whatever it was, had purpose. Raising his head from the toe of his left boot, a perfect impression of its strap imprinted along his cheek, Auron strained to listen. His effort was rewarded by the sound of furtive movement on the far side of the aquifer at his back, barely audible over the rush of the waterfall. Auron's hand slipped silently inside the boot-pillow and drew his dirk from its confines, then he rolled to face the water and gripped the small blade in a loose readiness against his right hip -- waiting.  
  
A long, thin head began to show itself from behind the rock, the tips of a pair of thick curving horns following after. Auron casually bent his elbow, his wrist slightly cocked below it -- the knife poised to throw.  
  
The animal came into full view then, its narrow body covered in a close pelt of mottled color, designed to blend with its surroundings. The torso was supported by four slender legs that seemed to barely touch down as it nimbly walked toward the pool -- its large, upright tapering ears constantly rotating like twin-radar alongside the twisted alabaster horns. He had never seen an animal in the wild of this size and obvious vulnerability before. While its sleek frame clearly suggested it had ample speed, such a creature would only have served as fast food to the fiends of Spira.  
  
Auron slowly sat up and lowered the knife to his side. This delicate life form intended no harm, obviously drawn here by the same urgent need as his own -- and he began to marvel at how seemingly undisturbed it was by his presence. It regarded him for a moment and then splayed its front legs out at the water's edge to drink. Auron remained frozen in place while he watched the animal take its fill then raise its graceful neck, water dripping from its muzzle, to check on the two-legged animal staring it down from the other side of the pool.  
  
Cloven hooves began to move in tentative steps around the bank toward him, and Auron held his breath -- dark liquid eyes meeting coppered-hazel in a mutual curiosity. When the beautiful thing was close enough, Auron slowly held his hand up, stretching toward the velvet muzzle then stilling. The timid creature began explore his open palm, tickling his calloused skin with its soft, moist snorts of inspection. For anyone who knew him, what spread across Auron's face just then would have shocked them speechless: an expression of pure, boyish delight -- a look that had been absent from his countenance for thirty years.  
  
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Auron whispered in a low rumble. The sound caused the animal's head to jerk upward and its large eyes regarded him in sudden wariness. Then it leaned to one side and darted away across the open grassland, its hindquarters bucking back toward him and the snowy tail rose in a brief salute as it departed.  
  
"Farewell," Auron said, not in the tone he normally used, but in one of sweet sadness as he watched the beautifully gentle creature disappear. It could very well be the only company he would ever know, but its briefly poignant visit dared to suggest there were better things awaiting him, and helped to ease his repressed fears.  
  
With a quiet sigh he rose to his feet and stretched, a hand roving to his bared chest to absently scratch across its taut surface. Then he moved to where his clothes hung from the hilt of his planted sword and ran his hands along the fabric to determine if it was dry. He judged his garments dry enough and dressed himself, then pulled his blade from the ground and held its edge up away from him to squint down its length.  
  
As he feared, the trek up the scree had not been kind to the blade -- its steel corroded and the edge now dull as a Maester's lecture. Never one to be unprepared, even in a place as seemingly peaceful as this, Auron sank cross-legged to the grass. Laying the weapon flat across his lap, he reached into his robe for the well-used stone and began to hone the edge in long-practiced strokes.  
  
That task complete, Auron removed his jug and up-ended it -- emptying the contents onto the ground. Then he moved to crouch at the pool's edge, filling the container with the provided life-support before continuing on his way.  
  
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The muted pre-dawn light was unable to properly guide him, so Auron kept his head down, using his restored sight to advantage as he scanned the ground. He had decided to follow the spoor of his shy friend in hopes the animal would lead him in the right direction.  
  
It wasn't long before he spied the end of the butte looming just ahead and he had nearly reached the drop, when Auron felt an odd resistance pushing against him and paused to bring his hands out in front of him. The air felt thicker just ahead, like an invisible membrane between him and his intended destination. True to form, the willful warrior stepped boldly through the unseen shroud, a distinct feeling of having passed through a doorway enveloping him as he strode forward to the edge.  
  
And it was there.  
  
The Farplane he had yearned for and feared he had been denied was revealed to his wondering eyes in a vast majesty that far surpassed the crude representation in Guadosalam. The far-reaching vistas were misted by distance and low light but still achingly vivid in their impact. Fully aware of how much more there must be, Auron silently cursed this limited vision -- his soul hungry for the unseen layers of this glorious new world hidden from his ravenous gaze.  
  
Wild sea crashed against rugged shore, shore met gentle hills that undulated into emerald vales as sward gave way to dense fields of flower. These impressionist meadows of stippled hues stretched to a lake-parted forest, the dense points of treetop sweeping up to a majestic mountain range -- snowy peaks softly illuminated by a duo of setting moons. One large moon, its pocked face beginning to blush a faint pink, overlapped the smaller that peeked demurely in the same roseate. Behind them, thick blankets of fading stars swam across a sky deeper than any he had ever seen.  
  
A disturbing sound began to coalesce in the air around him and it took Auron several moments before he realized that the strange keening was coming from him. The Farplane's call that he had heard in the marrow for ten years now answered from somewhere deep inside, its voice independent of conscious control. He had spent countless hours dreaming about what he would find here -- but this was far beyond anything he had imagined, awake or in slumber. The indescribable beauty that stretched like swaths of gossamer across the horizon were more than his mind could fully process, and he suddenly found himself in a state of sensory overload.  
  
With no warning, Auron's legs betrayed him and he sank to the grass, his breath hitching in his chest. Then he leaned forward onto his hands and lowered his head -- slowly bringing the hyperventilation that gripped his lungs under control. On the whole, he thought, his journey thus far had been most undignified.  
  
The prone position he was in brought his attention to the cliff face and a hoof-worn trail winding down the gentle slope. The sight drove him to his feet as he moved purposefully over the edge and down. Part of him felt like a trespasser as he swiftly descended the narrow trail, a feeling of unworthiness stealing into his heart before he firmly rejected it. Perhaps he had been relegated to the cheap-seats, but he had no intention of remaining there. He was quite used to invading places where he did not belong. More than willing to accept the consequences of this particular intrusion, his fierce longings for the Promised Land below eclipsed any trepidation.  
  
When he reached the bottom of the incline, Auron saw that the meager trail converged with a better-traveled path, cutting through the undergrowth of luxuriant flora along the base. It wound its way between thick clusters of cypress, their branches festooned in delicate sleeves of hanging moss -- like ladies dressed in evening finery. Then Auron noticed his shadow stretching across the widened course at his feet. He turned to see the welcome glow of a rising sun burst over the top of the cliff behind him, its broad fingers of light reaching down in a warm benediction to touch his upraised face. Auron squinted at the new morning, then smiled as he reached inside his robe and pulled his glasses out. Placing their familiar weight to his nose, he spun in a red flurry to follow the rough track through the trees.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron stopped at the edge of the thinning tree line and gazed across an open field of golden knee-high sedge. Interspersed above the sea of tall grass were the bright heads of many-colored flowers. Tufts of silken seedpods wafted through currents of air accompanied by the hurried sound of buzzing insects -- the field busy with propagation. The sweet sound of bird song had replaced the lonelier call of crickets, as the fullness of day pushed aside the quiet of morning.   
  
The sigh of wind that swept forward to meet him whispered ancient secrets and brought the gift of rich scents. The smells were too numerous and dense to discern one from another, all save one, which caused Auron's heart to beat faster: the unmistakable aroma of cook-fires and the bittersweet smell of wood-smoke. The promise offered by the smell spurred Auron forward and he suddenly felt inexhaustible -- as though he could walk forever if need be, to reach the source.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Look! Isn't that..." The man started, using the spade in his hand to point down the dirt road leading into the village.  
  
Braska's head came up from the flowerbed he was kneeling over and looked up at the man standing at his side. Turning his head in the direction the man was indicating, he brought his forearm up to shield his brow against the intense afternoon light. His eyes narrowed for a moment then grew wide, an unintelligible word escaping his lips as he rose swiftly to his feet. Pulling his gloves off and throwing them to the grass, he began to move in long strides toward the figure coming down the wide path -- his hair flowing out behind him in a silvery-blue train.  
  
The man watched Braska hurrying away. Turning to the small group of men and women around him, toiling contentedly in the community garden, he cried, "It is him... it's Sir Auron!"  
  
Murmurs ran through the crowd as they all began to follow after Braska, eager to get a glimpse of the famous warrior. Soon, others had joined them -- people pouring through the doorways of their domiciles and the commons, their tasks forgotten as their voices rose in excitement.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Thin, knobby fingers turned the small carving over, the craftsman examining his work with a critical eye. The face isn't quite right, he thought. It needs a few more touches -- just there, and there. The handle of the knife was raised, its original color stained black with oil from hands that had employed the tool for uncountable centuries. Then the blade was pressed into the wood with all the confidence those vast years had afforded, the tip beginning to slice down through the top layer of the wood's surface. Just at that critical moment, the unexpected sound of clamoring feet and the chatter of energized voices flew by the open doorway, like a flight of squawking gulls after a fish-head.  
  
"Damn you," The man swore. Raising the knife, he glared at the indelicate gouge he had just made in the carving.  
  
"Tanar make big mistake," A growling bass spoke from across the room, a teasing amusement laced through its deep tones.  
  
"I'm abundantly aware of that, you lumbering oaf," Tanar riposted in disgust, tossing the ruined piece to the tabletop along with the knife. His angry retort was answered with a rough chuckle, the sound of it tapering off into something that bordered on a purr.  
  
Tanar scowled at his devoted companion for a long moment, consulting his immense repertoire of insults -- trying to decide upon the best one. He was readying to fire the verbal bullet, when his thoughts were suddenly drowned out by a phenomenon he had long since grown accustomed to, but one he had never learned to welcome.  
  
The Farplane was altering itself.  
  
Sometimes he perceived it as something so slight that it could not be fully comprehended -- like a leaf falling from a single tree, to land in a certain spot, at a particular moment. At other times, like now, it was much more profound -- a rolling surge of change, setting things into place like cogs turning in an invisible apparatus.  
  
His voice low and insistent, Tanar said, "Take me to the doorway," The words had barely left his mouth, before he was hoisted like a sack of feed and toted to the entryway -- his caregiver turning to allow him a view through the gardens and to the roadway beyond.  
  
"Tanar is troubled?"  
  
"No, merely curious. This man they are so eager to idolize is not entirely what he seems on the surface, or what he projects."  
  
"He is a danger?" Came the immediate question. Tanar felt thickly muscled arms tensing around him.  
  
"Only to himself."  
  
"Grahl doesn't understand."  
  
"The Farplane will take everything from him. It gives him thoughts and feelings that throw him off balance, the only way to strip him of what he uses as a shield. Then it will urge him toward a path he will be reluctant to take. He will fight it."  
  
"What will happen then?"  
  
"I have no idea. Only the Farplane knows that. I do know that we will play a part, what that is we can only wait and see."  
  
"Grahl doesn't like waiting."  
  
"Grahl doesn't smell very good either... have you been stashing carp in your pockets again?"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
His gloved hand tensed around the hilt of his sword as Auron watched the gathering stream of bodies move rapidly toward him. He was unsure of their intent, his experience telling him there was a mob-mentality in the way they were moving down the road. As he drew nearer, they slowed and began to line-up along both sides of the rutted path pointing in his direction and babbling incoherently.  
  
Auron stole a quick glance over his shoulder, half-expecting to see a three-headed Shoopuf following on his heels. He fought the irrational urge to bring his free hand to his shoulder, suddenly convinced it was he that had multiple craniums by the way these people gaped at him with their mouths hung open. Then a graceful figure began to emerge from the clot of strangers, the throng parting to let him pass -- the man's gentle face filled with a radiant smile.  
  
All the strength fled from Auron's limbs when recognition hit him. His shoulder dropped, the katana slipping to bury its tip in the dirt, leathered fingers uncurling from its hilt to let the weapon fall, the dark steel ringing as it struck the hard-pack of the road. And for the second time that day, Auron felt his legs softening as he began to sway unsteadily on his feet -- his throat and jaw working to hold back the sounds that wanted to erupt from him.  
  
Seeing Auron's control wavering, Braska hurried to reach him before he was overcome knowing how much it would hurt the man's pride to be seen in such a state. Then their eyes met and the universe winked out, their surroundings faded to insignificance. Braska reached up and pushed aside the collar -- to tenderly hold that weathered, noble face in his hands.  
  
"The road to this place has been so very long, but you have traveled it with unceasing devotion and courageous sacrifice... your presence here honors us all and fills my heart with a joy I cannot begin to express."  
  
"Welcome home, my friend... welcome home."  
  
Auron did not speak, but merely closed his eyes and slowly lowered his forehead to rest it against Braska's shoulder. It was quiet. It was simple -- and all the more heart breaking for that.  
  
Braska's knees wobbled with the raw power of it, but he stayed on his feet and pulled Auron's still form close, his arms coming up to wrap around the warrior's back and lock at the wrists. His pale hands opened out and spread like wings, his head thrown back -- the tears that flowed unashamed down his beatific face, a loving prayer of thanks to that which cared to listen -- for the man called Auron.  
  
The crowd of people surrounding them suddenly retreated like ripples from a stone thrown into still water. Not a word was spoken as they dispersed -- the moment the two men were sharing more than they could bring themselves to witness. 


	4. First Impressions

Eterna: Chapter 4 -- First Impressions  
  
  
  
  
As the blaze of late midday began to diminish in its journey towards dusk, so too did the emotions of the summoner and his former guardian, as they stood alone in the roadway. No words had been exchanged, their hearts silently emptying into one another through the embrace -- that closeness communicating everything that needed to be said between them.  
  
Braska's first semi-rational thought was that he would probably have permanent indentations along his upper back. At some point, Auron had brought his hands there, and the warrior's strong fingers pressed into his flesh through the thin fabric of his work shirt -- clutching him as though the man was afraid he would evaporate. Then he became aware of Auron's heart -- a swift rhythm felt clearly even through his chest plate, and Auron's short and heavy breathing beating against the base of his neck like a soft hammer.  
  
As if sensing the shift in the summoner's thoughts, Auron relaxed his grip and dropped his arms back to his sides, pulling himself upright to look into Braska's face. His deep eyes were shimmering with more than just the reflected sunlight over the top of his glasses as he spoke in a low huskiness.  
  
"Jecht? Tidus?"  
  
Squeezing Auron's shoulders in reassurance, Braska quickly replied "They are well... all is well,"  
  
Auron nodded, apparently satisfied with that for the moment. Then he stooped to retrieve his sword, all remnants of emotion fleeing from his face as he swung the blade to his shoulder and sheathed it, then pushed his glasses up with his thumb. "I have many questions."  
  
Laughing warmly at that, Braska slung his arm affectionately around Auron's shoulders. "I should be quite disappointed if it were otherwise, but let us retreat to my home... it's not far and this sun begins to roast my brains."  
  
"A prudent suggestion," Auron replied. He was feeling a little disoriented at the moment. Bringing a hand to the side of his head, he pressed the palm against his temple. The shudder that passed through him was not lost on Braska.  
  
Studying Auron intently, Braska impatiently brushed away a long strand of hair that had blown across his eyes and asked, "Are you all right?" Then immediately realized it was a foolish question, considering everything the man had been through.  
  
Auron hesitated and then responded truthfully. "I'm not sure,"  
  
"Where in the Farplane did you materialize... which route brought you here?"  
  
Auron leaned his head back, preferring to look at the clouds floating by rather than at Braska. "Hard to say. I would consider it as sneaking in through the back door."  
  
"I don't believe you are capable of sneaking," Braska said with a crooked smile.  
  
"Nothing is beneath me," Auron rumbled, the comment intended as humorous but his voice tinged with contempt.  
  
I think he actually means that, Braska thought despairingly, wondering just how deep this bitter self-loathing went. If not for the collar and glasses he could have easily gleaned what he needed from Auron's face -- confident he could still read that visage even with the addition of what looked to be a good twenty years worth of aging. "I want to hear everything in regards to your arrival... but I think it would be a tale best told over a good, strong cup of tea."  
  
"That does sound good," Auron admitted reluctantly. Then thought a barrel of sake to follow it wouldn't be bad either.  
  
"Come," Braska instructed briskly, looping his right arm around Auron's left and gently but firmly guiding him forward down the road to the west -- purposely taking the long way around in order to keep his friend clear of the more populated parts of the village for the time being. Tours could come later. Right now he just wanted to get Auron to some place comfortable and quiet. He knew from what he had learned through Tidus that his friend was still as stubborn as a Bashura, and he would wager the guardian had done little, if anything, to see to his own needs during Yuna's harrowing pilgrimage.  
  
Braska's youthful effervescence caused Auron to suddenly feel every inch the used-up relic -- clearly seeing himself as a feeble old man requiring assistance as he allowed his former charge to lead him down the dirt lane. What a sorry mess I must seem to him now, Auron thought, realizing just how utterly useless a man such as he would be in this place of eternal peace. No doubt he would find himself and his katana offering such meaningful services as chief bread-slicer in the near future. This is what you have yearned for and now you have it -- can you never be content, you doddering antique? Then the sound of Braska's calm voice shook Auron from his sullen thoughts, and he looked up as the picturesque architecture of this ancient realm began to reveal itself on the north side of the roadway.  
  
"No one knows the true origins of the 'village' as it is commonly referred to: its creators have long passed from memory. The extraordinary thing is that it never needs repair and is completely self-sustaining. Some believe that over the ages the structures have absorbed enough energy to actually have achieved consciousness... that it is a living thing. There is electricity, as well as running water and the like, however nothing is powered by machina, but rather by thought and touch. There is a definite symbiotic relationship between the inhabitants and the surrounding environment, a perfect melding of spirit with form, and one that is remarkably beautiful... do you not agree?"  
  
"I do indeed," Auron said softly, quite ashamed of his self-absorbed thoughts of moments before. He had always taken a measure of pride in his ability to remain focused on the big picture -- bereft now even of that small sense of worth, as he compared his petty concerns to the sheer grandeur of this place.  
  
The style of the buildings that formed a large u-shape against the land were more modern than those of Spira and less so than Zanarkand; instead it was an amalgam of the two, the structures presenting a facade both modernly efficient and rustically simplistic at the same time. Auron found it quite engaging at a level much deeper than mere aesthetics, as if he had always been a part of it. Somehow he felt he knew its intricate face as well as that of his own long deceased mother, and like that woman who had given birth to him -- its sheltering countenance offered succor from all the cares of the universe. Moving beyond the feelings the village evoked in him, Auron began to record what detail he could discern as Braska continued toward the windward side of the settlement -- his distracted red lump in tow.  
  
There was a central communal space taking up the majority of the acreage inside the convex, a domed pavilion at its center. Informal gardens of flowers mixed with the more practical crops of herbs and vegetables radiated out from the structure -- interfused with ornamental shade trees and the bowed masonry of low bridges that spanned a meandering watercourse. Surrounding the lush center on three sides were covered thoroughfares, supported by clustered piers of stone columns, their broad, richly carved capitols bearing the weight of massive beams. These uprights were obscured by the glossy leaves of ivy and thorny climbs of wild roses that rambled pervasively in fragrant curves along the impressive supports. Vast arches leading off into other sections of the community interrupted the far walls of the passages. But what captivated Auron's attention more than any other detail was the artistry of the pediments that made up the gable ends of the buildings rising above the porticos. Magnificent murals, the intricate patterns of inlay created from the native materials of coral, abalone and pearl -- which gave the village an overall impression of a huge, glowing jewel in the sunlight.  
  
As they approached the seaboard edge of the village, Auron looked back over his left shoulder to see a shell-cobbled path winding down to the gray-weathered planks of a floating quay below. The wooden span rocked gently with the steady slap of quiet waves that rolled in from beyond the protection of the natural harbor, formed by a jagged arm of rock curving inward towards the shore. Flocks of terns wheeled and called as they rode the high thermals above a broad strand of powder-fine white sand -- the most perfect beach he had ever laid eyes on. He looked forward to spending some time there -- a millennium or two should be sufficient, he thought, the sound of a short chuckle sifting through the fabric of his collar.  
  
"Something amuses you?" Braska asked. He had remained silent after his initial speech to allow Auron to take everything in at his own pace.  
  
"Surprised?"  
  
"Not at all, nor am I by your familiar habit of responding to a query with another."  
  
"Irritating, isn't it."  
  
"Mmm," Braska responded. That brought an end to the badinage as he led the way around a bend to the right and up a low incline -- rows of rustic cottages stacked against the hillside with their small porches facing the ocean. Auron closed his eyes and tilted his head back when the tangy smell of brine drifted in with the crisp sea breeze that sent his hair and robe aloft, then opened them when he became aware that Braska had come to a stop.  
  
The timber and stone that made up Braska's humble home was adorned with a crown of wisteria, its gnarled ropes of thick vine curling upward to the roof peak -- large clusters of pastel blooms hanging like ripe fruit along the lintel beam. The undersized, arched doorway below appeared to be hewn from a single slab of hardwood -- its seamless surface aglow in welcome with the sun's setting rays striking its rich patina. Auron found it necessary to stoop slightly to enter behind Braska.  
  
"We were offered much grander accommodations, but found this more to our liking... it's quite cozy."  
  
"We?"  
  
"Melia and I."  
  
"So, she is here... I am glad for that."  
  
"As am I," Braska replied, grinning broadly. "I don't think I could have borne being here without her."  
  
"Yes, of course. I wish..." Auron started then abruptly cut himself off.  
  
"What is it you wish?" Braska prompted, tilting his head as he searched what was visible of Auron's face.  
  
"Nothing," Auron rumbled with a dismissive wave of a gloved hand, quickly deflecting the subject back to Braska's wife. "It appears she is not at home," he continued, scanning the darkened and silent rooms ahead of them.  
  
"No, she accepted an invitation to accompany Jecht and his family on the maiden voyage of their new sloop, but I expect her return with the incoming tide."  
  
"It seems everything is as it should be," Auron said with a small smile, "but I fail to understand how all this came about so quickly."  
  
Braska nodded. "Time is... fluid, here in the Farplane."  
  
"A somewhat obvious axiom."  
  
Braska smiled, thinking he never had been able to decide which was keener: the man's blade or his mind. "As you say, so it is that a day can seem like a week, a month can seem like a day, and I have yet to discern any logical pattern."  
  
"Possibly because it matters little in the grand scheme of things."  
  
"Quite so," Braska agreed, as he turned and gracefully swept his hand in a shallow arc -- several lamps blossoming with warm light throughout the front room, softly illuminating the minimal furnishings. A large woven-reed mat covered the clay tile of the floor, a low, square lacquered table centered upon that surrounded by a bright sea of thick floor cushions.  
  
"Sit. I'll start the tea," Braska stated firmly pointing at the floor, and then glided through an open archway to his right.  
  
Auron grunted and lowered himself to the pillows, drawing his knees up and propping his forearms across them -- unwilling to lounge as the comfortable padding beneath him suggested he should. Cocking his head, he listened contentedly to the sound of Braska's efficient movements in the next room. Then he smiled when he heard the sound of the summoner's pleasant voice, as it began to hum a familiar tune: a hymn Braska's father had often sung while going about a task.  
  
A lump began to form in the base of Auron's throat and he swallowed hard several times as he squeezed his eyes shut, pushing the rising sentiment back down. He wondered just how long it would be before he would cease feeling this need to weep like a lost child.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron fell silent and raised his cup to take a long draw of its lukewarm contents. That was the most talking he had done in one stretch in over a decade; his vocal chords felt ready to snap.  
  
"Fascinating," Braska said, drumming his fingers against his chin.  
  
"I would choose a different word to describe it, care to hear mine?" Auron grumbled.  
  
Braska chuckled softly and stretched his arms out in front of him across the top of the table. "I don't mean to appear insensitive, it's just your experience lends credence to several theories I have about the nature of the Farplane."  
  
"I would ask you to elaborate, but I wish to pose a question first," Auron said, a gloved hand coming to his collar.  
  
"Fire away," Braska replied amicably.  
  
"Magic?"  
  
"Mmm... magic is still possible, but only for mages such as myself. Offensive, or battle magic is ineffective, there is no need for it here."  
  
"As I thought," Auron said somewhat sourly, and then asked, "Is there a social hierarchy? Who pulls the strings?"  
  
"No one, save the Farplane," Braska replied adamantly, "the prejudice and hypocrisy that ruled in Spira holds no sway here... although it seems even the Farplane cannot erase all the inclinations of the past, as the Al-Bhed who decide to reside here in the village are rare. There is a large Al-Bhed settlement a half-day's journey to the southeast. The Ronso also have preferred to congregate elsewhere, but I think that is mainly due to the temperate climate of this region."  
  
"I would assume they have taken up residence in the mountains," Auron speculated.  
  
"That's correct. However, I have heard tell of several bands that are more nomadic in nature, content to roam the forests to the north."  
  
Auron nodded, thinking that sort of lifestyle sounded rather appealing. What would it be like? He wondered, to only allow whims to dictate where one went and what one did. That thought leading him to ask about a certain segment of Spira's population that Braska had not yet mentioned. "And what of Yevon clergy?"  
  
The disdain in Auron's voice was palpable, and Braska thought he would definitely be avoiding lengthy discussions of religion and politics for the foreseeable future. "I've run across a few, mostly former acolytes and warrior-monks. But I have yet to encounter any high-ranking clergy here, which leads me to one of my conjectures: I'm not certain, but I think there are many different levels of existence here... some more pleasant than others."  
  
"I can certainly attest to that," Auron replied, closing his eyes as a pained expression settled across his features. He did not wish to think of Kinoc trapped in a place like the one he had encountered on his arrival -- no one deserved that. Well, almost no one.  
  
Understanding full well what Auron's half-seen expression was eluding to, Braska nodded sadly, and then continued his thoughts. "Do you remember the ribbon-candy that my mother used to give us at Winter Festival?"  
  
"Yes," Auron responded, his look of pain softening as he recalled the bright strands of hard sweetness -- his tongue running along the inside of his cheek in a brief bulge. "Quite well, as I retain a chipped tooth to remind me."  
  
Braska smiled. "I believe the Farplane is like that candy: folding back on itself in a continuous loop. Where the bends in the loop meet, the wall between the planes of existence becomes... thin, if you will, allowing one a glimpse into the neighboring plane and in your case, the wall so thin, as to actually enable you to pass from one plane to another."  
  
Auron scratched at his chin. "I have no reason not to concur, your logic is sound and it would explain much of what I experienced."  
  
Braska leaned forward, his body language punctuating his words. "You simply undershot the landing, Auron. I wouldn't read anything more into it than that."  
  
"A possibility."  
  
The man still seemed unconvinced and Braska decided to let it go for the moment, but he had every intention of revisiting the subject in the future. No one deserved the fulfillment and happiness offered here more than Auron did, and damned if he would allow him to think otherwise.  
  
Then Auron suddenly tensed and his eyes narrowed as he looked over Braska's shoulder, just as the door flew open and a petite brunette hurled herself into the room. Auron responded by shooting to his feet, his hand flashing to the hilt of his sword, while Braska merely cocked his head back with a greeting smile.  
  
For a brief moment, Auron thought it was Yuna that had just bolted through the door, and then barely had time to register the swirling green eyes that belonged to her mother before Braska's wife launched herself at him. Melia threw her arms around Auron's neck and hung there as she smacked a big wet kiss against his heavily stubbled cheek, the bridge of her nose mashing his glasses into the side of his face. Auron found the Al-bhed woman like the rest of her family, excessively animated -- a trait that tended to irritate him more often than not, but he had always tolerated her for Braska's sake.  
  
"Hello, Melia... it is good to see you," Auron said, not returning the affection, and he suddenly bore a striking resemblance to a block of red cement, while Melia dangled from him like a ball and chain.  
  
Melia laughed. "You haven't changed at all." Then mentally kicked herself for the remark, as it was clear her husband's closest friend had changed immeasurably, quickly adding, "You're still a perfect gentleman."  
  
Don't count on it, Auron thought with a smirk. Melia obviously interpreted the quirk as one of endearment -- her returning smile eliciting a pang of guilt in him for thinking so unkindly of the woman that Braska had always adored.  
  
"Well, Auron, you have the entire village in a complete uproar; there hasn't been this much excitement since Jecht and Tidus arrived," Melia said cheerfully. Then she released her stranglehold on Auron's neck and dropped sprightly to the floor, bouncing to Braska's side to plant a series of kisses down his upturned face.  
  
An arched eyebrow was Auron's muted response as he looked through the open doorway and into the gloaming beyond it. Melia felt her heart melt at the modest expression of anticipation she saw in the set of Auron's stance as he gazed past her to the outside. "They stayed on the boat, Jecht said he'd be by in the morning. They don't know you're here... want me to run get them?"  
  
"No," Auron replied with a firm shake of his head, the stray wisps of hair along his forehead shifting in opposition to the sudden movement. "That is unnecessary."  
  
Melia considered pressing the issue, but glanced down at her still seated husband for confirmation. His eyes alone told her what she needed to know. "All right. I'm going to jump in the bath and then I want details," She said with an impish grin.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Melia had insisted that Auron share the highlights of his arrival in the Farplane with her, and Auron, ever the honorable and polite guest that he was, had grudgingly complied. The disgruntled man was shortening his tale even further -- his patience clearly worn thin by being forced to recount the events a second time.  
  
You had better get used to it, my friend, Braska thought, as he stifled the urge to laugh. If he had a gil for every time he had been pressured into telling the tale of his own exploits, he would be rich beyond measure. Even more so than Spira, there was little in the way of entertainment here and storytelling was one of the most popular, second only to idle gossip.  
  
Comfortably ensconced in a pile of pillows, Braska propped a hand against his cheek and contentedly listened to his former guardian talk. And he couldn't help but notice that while Auron's formal way of expressing himself was still intact, his voice had shed much of the curt formality of his youth. On the whole, he found it rather delightful.  
  
But not all of the changes in Auron's demeanor were amusing -- far from it. Braska also had to acknowledge that the man had become distant and hard. Auron's innate kindness and passionate heart were now safely barricaded behind a fortress of cool detachment, and it had seemingly all but destroyed his ability to connect with others. Braska felt his heart break anew, to think of how lonely -- how terribly lonely Auron must have been all these years.  
  
Unable to bear the sudden realization of the extent of Auron's suffering, Braska excused himself with the contrivance of needing another cup of tea. When he was safely beyond the door of the kitchen he leaned against the countertop as his shoulders shook in silent, agonized grief.  
  
"Are you coming back muja or did you drown in the kettle?" Melia enquired from the next room. Braska quickly started a stream of water into the sink with a firm pulse of thought as he splashed his face -- pressing his hands into his eye sockets in an effort to regain some semblance of composure.  
  
"Yes, Mel... just a moment, tayn," He managed to say in the same teasing tone. Using the front of his shirt to blot his face, he straightened his spine as he returned to the front room, keeping his head down and rubbing his chin in hopes Auron and Melia would think him deep in thought.  
  
"Where's your tea, kuuvo?" Melia asked, as usual, offering no mercy to her befuddled mate.  
  
"Tea?" Braska enquired numbly. Good Yevon, he thought, I believe my brains must have run out of my ears while I wasn't looking.  
  
"Perhaps some rest is in order. There is, I believe, an unending amount of time in which to ponder the secrets of the universe," Auron suggested in a low rumble, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Braska.  
  
You never miss a thing do you -- you crimson-clad-pain-in-the-buttocks, Braska thought in exasperation. He was suddenly undecided as to whether he wanted to weep for his friend, or soundly throttle him. 


	5. Breakfast of Champions

Eterna: Chapter 5 -- Breakfast of Champions  
  
  
  
  
The sound of soft snoring drifted up from the floor -- the weary warrior sprawled across the cushions enjoying the first sound sleep he had known in a long while. Eventually a bright ray of sunlight shafted through one of the small mullioned windows along the east wall, striking Auron's face just below his eyebrows. That natural alarm clock brought him awake with a small snort as he raised his head to look around him in confusion for a moment, then he relaxed his neck again and brought a hand to his mouth as a large yawn stretched across his features.  
  
Now someone approaching from outside brought Auron from the floor-pillows in a single, fluid motion as he looked toward the arched entrance of Braska's cottage, his head tilted to listen. Long strides against the gravel of the front walkway, then a hand, not bothering to knock, swinging the door open with a bang -- the crude voice cutting through the morning's quiet like a rusty blade.  
  
"Hey, Braska! Yer not gonna believe the wild-shit we saw on our trip! Man! It was..."  
  
Silence dropped like a heavy curtain, as Jecht jolted to a stop on the threshold. He was dressed only in a pair of baggy and extremely loud, knee-length shorts -- the riot against his lower-half matching the state of his hair that stormed around his strong features in unruly, wind-blown strands.  
  
The quiet stretched out as the two men silently regarded one another, the air between them thick with unspoken thoughts and feelings. Finally, Jecht cleared his throat and wrapped a hand around his neck. "I uh, just gotta say, that you did great with the kid. You were there when he needed ya, but you did it without runnin' behind to constantly wipe his ass for him. It made Tidus what he needed ta be... and... uh..."  
  
Auron shook his head and turned aside, suddenly compelled to study the wood grain in the wall paneling. "The boy proved worthy of his task not through my efforts, but through his own and because he is your son."  
  
"Damnit, Auron, you never were any good at acceptin' praise," Jecht said. Striding forward, he crossed his arms over his broad tattooed chest, the trademark grin spreading across his face.  
  
Turning back, Auron returned the look of amusement in his own subtle way. "No need, you were always ready to accept enough for both of us."  
  
They both turned to look behind them at the sound of Braska's warm laughter echoing down the short hallway to the front room, as the last member of the legendary trio joined his friends. Still dressed in his rumpled sleeping robe, his face beaming in a wide smile from beneath his tangled tresses of blue bed-hair, Braska stretched his long-fingered hands out to grasp the shoulders of the men who had given their lives for him, and for Spira.  
  
"The Troublemakers Club convened once more. This time with a slightly more effective outcome, no?"  
  
Auron merely grunted his agreement, and Jecht did little better at expressing the feelings of the long-awaited reunion: playfully shoving Braska's shoulder as he swept past him and into the kitchen.  
  
"Yeah, it's just too bad we all had to croak in order to open that industrial-sized can of whup-ass. But what's for breakfast? I'm starvin' to death," Jecht's brash voice carried back to the front room, along with the sound of dishes rattling and the cold-box door being yanked open.  
  
Braska watched silently as Auron whirled and disappeared through the kitchen doorway after Jecht, clearly furious with the blitzer's ill-mannered conduct. Only the rumble of Auron's low voice could be heard, Braska unable to make out the words spoken, but Jecht's response loud and clear.  
  
"That the best you got? You've gone soft, Auron."  
  
Then Braska's head jerked down between his shoulders, wincing at the sound of a solid thump followed by a dish shattering against the clay tiles of the floor, Auron's menacing growl contrasting against the sharp sound.  
  
"You make that assumption at your own peril."  
  
Braska exhaled heavily and rubbed a hand across his forehead -- was his work never to be done with these two?  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Standing alone on the front porch, Auron breathed a low sigh and looked out to the endless expanse of ocean -- its flawless aquamarine never having known the presence of Sin. Then he raised a hand to comb it through the layers of his tussled hair. He was not particularly proud of the fact that he had allowed Jecht to push his buttons like that, thinking that after all these years he should be immune to the man's provocations, or at the very least more mature about it. But regressing to that behavior had been as effortless and comfortable as slipping on an old boot, and perhaps it was the same for Jecht.   
  
It made things, less difficult -- less painful. That they could act as if the nightmare had never occurred, and simply pick-up where they had left off; before the cruel reality of what they must do and be had come crashing down around them -- rendering their bickering camaraderie meaningless.  
  
For the alternative was to relive that battle in the Calm Lands, and the death, horror and enraged despair that had followed -- and only madness waited down that dark road. Of the type he had known in his early days in Jecht's Zanarkand, of the type he had endured in the Ebon Dome at the end of Yuna's pilgrimage. He did not wish to experience that brand of agony ever again. He had had enough. So he would play his part in this little masquerade, and if that made him weak and cowardly, so be it. He no longer gave a good damn.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron didn't acknowledge the door opening behind him or the tread of bare feet along the heavy planks, as Jecht moved past him and off the porch. Jecht halted several yards ahead of him, the Blitzer's head shifting from side to side while he rubbed a hand along the base of his neck. Then Jecht turned to one side and offered Auron a let's-bury-the-hatchet smile as he swung his arm in a come along gesture before turning to walk away -- confident that he would be followed.  
  
-----------------------------------   
  
"Whadaya think? Ain't she sweet?" Jecht said, his arms hanging loose and his hips slung to one side in the manner of all true athletes; completely at ease with his own body and supremely secure in the knowledge of what it could do.  
  
"She's a beauty," Auron agreed. His upright posture and wide stance displayed his own version of self-assurance, as he followed Jecht's line of sight to the gleaming wooden sailboat below.  
  
"We found the poor old girl abandoned up behind the beachfront. Took us a while, but we got her seaworthy again. A couple of old salts from the village helped out with the canvas and some of the rigging, but the rest we did on our own," Jecht explained proudly, then added, "It was kinda thererpeutic for us to work on her together, ya know?"  
  
Auron suspected the boat had laid there in wait, the Farplane knowing just what was needed to help heal the walking wounded that comprised Jecht's family. The shattered relationship between Jecht and his wife and son, like that sleek craft anchored in port, was now strong and whole. "I understand what you are saying, Jecht, and I am very happy for you... truly."  
  
"Thanks, Auron," Jecht said somewhat embarrassed, thinking it would have been easier for the younger Auron to say those words, this older version obviously paying a heavier price for them. But still like that man of ten years ago, having the guts and class to say them anyway.  
  
"The relative quiet tells me Tidus isn't here," Auron spoke in the knowing tones of a surrogate parent.  
  
"Yeah, him and Dwen went up to the falls," Jecht explained, pointing at a path winding through the trees to the northeast. "Tidus likes it there. Heh, you should see the scrawny little guy doin' high-dives off the damn things to impress her... cracks me up. Anyway, I gotta take care of some stuff on the boat, but you should go say howdy."  
  
"I won't say 'howdy' but I would like to pay my respects," Auron replied. The inflection in his voice suggested he was unsure about whether he would be intruding.  
  
"Hey, it's no big deal, go on. I just figured it was the right thing to do to let the little woman and the kid spend some, how did those ass-wipes used to say that? Oh, right... Quality Time," Jecht said in falsetto, making a ridiculous face and holding his fingers up to make little quote gestures in the air.  
  
Auron's deep chuckle grew to a full-fledged laugh at Jecht's antics. He had forgotten how easily the immodest buffoon could beget that reaction in him. His shoulders still shaking in amusement, Auron spun and set out in the direction Jecht had imparted. "I shall do so then."  
  
Jecht couldn't help himself, grinning slyly as he raised his chin and called after the man-in-red. "I'll catch ya later, Auron, and if you're a good boy, I'll give ya a ride on my boat."  
  
Remaining rooted where he stood, Jecht watched the retreating figure -- anticipating the usual exasperated sigh of his name being spoken. But Auron didn't say anything, at least with his mouth anyway. He turned back and tipped his head forward to glare at him over the top of his glasses -- his eyes plainly delivering something along the lines of 'stick it up your ass, Jecht' before casually turning to continue down the road.  
  
Jecht snorted in grudging appreciation, thinking the ten years Auron had spent in Zanarkand had actually managed to make the stiff seem pretty cool. "Won't never be as cool as me though," Jecht grated, then broke into a wide grin and began to whistle as he ambled down the path to the quay.   
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron stopped at the top of the trailhead to admire the glimmering play of water that roared over the wide stairway of rocks worn smooth by the constant spillage. Leaning forward to peer down to the bottom of the chasm, he observed an azure lagoon. Its banks were a wild thicket of fern and palm -- the bright funnels of bromeliads and the soft faces of orchids peaking through the dense growth.  
  
"Huh," Auron muttered. He still found it somewhat disturbing at how the Farplane seemed to randomly ignore the laws of nature -- the tropical clime below differing from the more moderate environment above in the village. Then his thoughts were broken up by a mocking voice calling from behind him, its owner attempting to drop his normal tenor to a convincing baritone, and failing miserably.  
  
"Hey, new guy."  
  
"Who me?" Auron replied, not turning around.  
  
"Who else," Tidus said. Then burst out laughing.  
  
Showing his appreciation for the irony with a chuckle, Auron turned to the boy he had guided in the direction of manhood. Tidus' eyes widened when he saw Auron's face.  
  
"Hey! You got your eye back, that's awesome!"  
  
Auron's hand unconsciously came to the scarred side of his face, as if he had to remind himself he had two working orbs. "It has its advantages."  
  
Tidus grinned. "Guess I won't be able to sneak past you on your right side any more, like I used to when I was a kid."  
  
"Hn, surely you know I allowed you that."  
  
"Yeah, of course I do," Tidus said, swiping a hand in front of him. He was doing his best to appear confident in the obvious prevarication.  
  
Auron didn't reply, deciding it was futile to call him on it. If Tidus didn't know by now how easily he saw through him, the boy never would.  
  
"Hey mom, Auron's here!" Tidus shouted further up the hill. Auron turned to spot the lone figure sitting on a blanket beneath the spreading limbs of a large shade tree that grew from the top of a small rise above the falls.   
  
Dwen made no move to depart the shelter of sun-dappled shadows, but simply raised an arm in a timid wave. Auron respected the woman's shy ways by returning the greeting with an upraised hand. Then Auron turned back to see a look of pure adoration filling Tidus' face as he watched his mother, one Auron had not seen on the boy's features since he was a child. "You seem... content," Auron observed, as Tidus turned to meet his spectacled gaze.  
  
"It's really good to see her happy again, and the three of us are like a real family now so, yeah, I'm content I guess, except..." Tidus drifted off, his head dropping to stare at his feet.  
  
Auron placed a hand on Tidus' shoulder. "It is unfortunate that our memories follow us here, as some are best forgotten."  
  
Tidus kept his head down, bringing his forearm up to swipe hastily across his eyes. "Part of me knows that's true, but the other part doesn't ever want to forget."  
  
"I feel much the same," Auron replied matter-of-factly, turning to walk back down the knoll towards the trail to the sea.  
  
"You do?" Tidus said, bringing his head up to stare at Auron's back. It was the first time he could remember the man ever volunteering how he felt about anything. Auron's only reply was his profile turning towards Tidus for a moment, as he paused before continuing off down the hill.  
  
"Where are you going now?" Tidus asked in irritation; it felt like he had spent most of his existence watching Auron's back receding from view.  
  
"The beach," Came the barely audible reply. Tidus watched Auron's heavy strides lengthen out in that all too familiar rhythm.  
  
"Don't drown old man!" Tidus yelled after him, then cocked his head to listen. Wait for it, he thought, smiling.  
  
"Hmph."  
  
"And he scores!" Tidus shouted, raising his arms over his head and turning in a circle as he nodded at the imaginary crowd cheering him on.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Protecting the steel within the folds of his robe, Auron added the bundle to his chest plate and boots lying in the sand. Then took note of the limberness of his knee joints as he sank to the ground, the absence of the sound of them popping with that movement, a silence he was still unaccustomed to.  
  
So, he thought, here he was. Sitting on a pristine beach, on a perfect morning, his friends happy and content, their loved ones restored to them and he sat here feeling, what? His chest felt hollow, his stomach shaky, and his thoughts were ambiguous at best. But that wasn't the truth. He knew what was bothering him. It was envy, pure and simple. He was envious of what Braska and Jecht had found here. There, he had admitted to it. For all he had found waiting for him were the echoes of friendship from a past he no longer felt a part of, the empty laurels of a task completed, and the barren rewards of revenge.  
  
Yes, here he was, still dragging his katana and his pain around with him like a damned security blanket. The only thing left to complete the picture would be for him to stick his thumb in his mouth. Or better yet: shuffle through the streets grasping at the sleeves of passers by to regale them with his tales of triumph while wielding his sword at imaginary fiends like the village-idiot. But perhaps he was being unfair. He was, after all, the conquering hero: how righteous, how stalwart, and lest we forget, valiant -- and what an utter heap of dung. His choices had cost him everything, and earned him nothing, aside from rest. Which, he reasoned, was more than he deserved. He should be grateful for being put out to pasture, and the sooner he reconciled himself to that, the better. This wretched self-pity was beginning to make him quite ill. 


	6. Bitter Dregs

Eterna: Chapter 6 - Bitter Dregs  
  
  
  
The evening's meal had turned into an impromptu celebration for the little clan, the group congregated at Braska's home. Auron sat mutely at the table, his back to the entrance door. He had never been comfortable in that position -- it was an unwise thing to do as a rule, and despite his best efforts to relax his nerves were on edge as a result.   
  
Along with that mild irritation, was the clear perception that he was the odd-man-out in this domestic scene. Although that was hardly a new occurrence, he had never gotten used to it, and still felt somewhat awkward and out of place. The fact that everyone else was behaving with a joyful ease was not lost on him either. They had all been healed inside as well as out -- only he had remained unchanged at his center. Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed his discomfort.  
  
Braska and Jecht were animatedly engaged in a discussion about the Farplane's coastline, and the details of the terrain Jecht and party had witnessed on their recent adventure. Melia and Dwen were chatting in the kitchen, with Tidus hovering close by as he ran around the room -- gathering utensils and cooking ingredients in an obvious attempt to ingratiate himself. Although he knew part of the reason for Tidus' puppy-like behavior was his mother, it was clear the other reason was Melia. No sooner had he seen them together than he knew Tidus had a crush on Braska's wife. The logic was obvious to him: Melia looked like Yuna and acted like Rikku -- clearly the boy's idea of female perfection.  
  
Thinking of the two young women drew his thoughts to the Pilgrimage, causing him to shift his weight on the floor cushions. His mind was once again accosted by the knowledge of what he had taken from Jecht's son and Braska's daughter. What he had taken from them all.  
  
What good was it to be physically healed, when his heart remained a twisted lump in his chest? He would gladly trade his new eye for just a moment of being able to feel truly at peace. The Farplane's gifts were not what he had hoped they would be. He had dared to dream. Dared to believe he would find contentment in the afterlife. He had been a fool to listen to the Farplane's whispered promise to his soul these past ten years. Come home -- and you shall know peace everlasting. He had clung to that promise, like a man overboard with his arms desperately wrapped around a buoy in the midst of a hurricane. He had thought his guilt and regret would be taken from him. That he would return to knowing what it was to be fully human again. But it was all lies. No different than the false hopes that had been served up to the cowering masses on Spira, made by those power-grubbing prophets and their vengeful, cardboard god.  
  
He had always believed that everything he had done had been done for the people in this room and their progeny. But he wondered now if that truly had been his motivation. All the reward he needed was here -- in their smiling faces, in their happiness at being reunited with those they loved. To wish for anything beyond that was selfish, he should be content with what he had. His intellect knew this, but his heart would not listen.  
  
This was intolerable. He was never going to adjust to this existence, or feel anything beyond a vague satisfaction. He needed to get away: from his thoughts, from this inner turmoil. He was feeling more confused and conflicted by the moment and he didn't like it. No, more than that -- he hated it.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron pushed his plate away -- his food untouched. A decision had been made and rather than bolstering his flagging confidence, it had only served to further unhinge him. He found it ironic that Braska chose that very moment to add to his instability.  
  
"Auron I was thinking, perhaps we could venture out tomorrow, and see about finding you a permanent place... although you are more than welcome to remain here with us as long as you like."  
  
Auron's blunt reply blanketed the room in shocked silence. "I have no need of a residence."  
  
Tidus frowned. "What? You're sayin' you don't want a place of your own?"  
  
"That is precisely what I am saying."  
  
Jecht snorted. "So what are you gonna do? Just hang out in the bushes or somethin?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
It was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, and Jecht was drawing breath to tell Auron just that, when he felt Dwen's hand squeeze his knee under the table, silently asking him to let it go. He had no idea what the hell was up with Auron, but he accepted the subtle cue from his wife. She was probably right, given Auron's mood, getting up in his face right now was not a great idea. Besides that, Auron had changed. He didn't understand him so good anymore. So Jecht just shrugged and said, "Whatever blows yer hair back."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Any luck?" Braska asked, his face pale with concern.  
  
"Not a damn thing," Jecht replied, "nobody's seen him for a long time."  
  
Braska's expectant look went slack with disappointment. Then he shook his head and drew his eyebrows together. "I cannot accept that he would leave without saying a word. Auron simply would not do that."  
  
Jecht crossed his arms and met Braska's eyes. "I'm not so sure about that, Braska... he ain't the same man we knew back then." His words eliciting the ever comforting gesture of Braska's hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I know. He is troubled, but even so..."  
  
"Well, there's not a lot we can do, unless you wanna put together a search party from the village," Jecht said jokingly.  
  
"If he doesn't show up soon, we may have to," Braska said, rubbing at his chin.  
  
Jecht frowned. "You really that worried about him?"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
They had all met at the cottage and then split up to search. The day had grown overcast and Braska wished he had worn more clothes, cupping his elbows in his hands to ward off the cold wind coming in off the water. He had taken the coast road north from the house -- plodding up the hill toward the outskirts of the village.   
  
His instincts had told him not to look inside the village proper for his friend, but instead along its fringes -- where one might find solitude. As he neared the crest of the hill a giant windswept cypress came into view. Braska instantly recognized the outline of the singular figure slumped against the base of its massive bole.  
  
"Auron!" Braska cried, breaking into a run.  
  
"Auron!" Braska called again, when he reached the ancient conifer. What he saw when Auron turned to look up at him from his prone position, nearly tore his heart from his chest. Auron had deteriorated badly. Not only had he lost a great deal of weight, he had obviously chosen to ignore personal care of any kind. His gaunt face was covered in a full beard, his hair matted to his head, and his clothes rumpled and unclean. But it was Auron's eyes that frightened Braska to the depths of his soul. The piercing gaze was gone, replaced by atrophy -- as though Auron's spirit had been bled from him through the scar on his face.  
  
"Oh Yevon, Auron... what have you done to yourself?"  
  
"Done? I've done nothing," Auron said in a dull cadence.  
  
"How long have you been sitting here like this?" Braska asked in a gentler tone, dropping to his heels.  
  
Auron raised his hand to touch his collar, and then vaguely remembered he had taken it off. Emitting a sigh, he allowed his arm to fall back to his side. "Not sure. Since dinner the other night at your place maybe."  
  
"Auron, that was at least a month ago!" Braska said in shock. "There will come a time when your physical needs can be ignored, but it's far too soon for that. You must take food and rest. Come back to the house with me," Braska instructed, slipping his hand beneath Auron's arm.  
  
"No," Auron said, jerking his arm from Braska's grasp. He reached for his collar and glove lying in his lap and wadded them up, then stuffed them inside his robe. Pressing one hand against the tree behind him he pushed himself to his feet, his arm trailing against the bark as he sidestepped around the trunk. Braska quickly moved to meet him on the other side of the old growth, blocking his way.  
  
"Auron, you cannot do this!"  
  
His jaw clenching, Auron replied evenly, "I believe I've earned the right to do as I please,"   
  
Braska's voice became pleading then. "Talk to me. Tell me what it is that hurts you so. You used to be able to do that... remember?"  
  
"There are a lot of things I used to be able to do," Auron said quietly. Dropping his shoulder he navigated around Braska, and then stopped a short distance beyond the tree.  
  
His voice sinking to barely above a whisper, Braska said, "You can do them again. It's not too late. There is joy to be found, I swear it. I'll help you find it..." Fighting the lump that had formed in his throat, Braska found his voice again. "You have so much to offer, Auron. Don't take that away from the people who care about you."  
  
Presenting his back, Auron seemed to shrink even further before Braska's eyes, as he raised a hand to his forehead. "Everything I have to offer has already been given. You credit me with abilities that simply are not there anymore, Braska."  
  
Moving as if in slow motion Auron started away, then paused, his head turning to the side. "There is something I want to tell you about Yuna. You would be so very proud of her. At first, I was worried. Both she and Tidus were so young. But in the end, she found the courage to choose her own path. She is an extraordinary young woman... so much like you. Her story will be a long and fruitful one, I am sure of it."  
  
Braska sank back against the tree, his legs unable to fully support him as he watched Auron walk away. He could go after Auron and physically try to restrain him, but he was no match for the man, even in his weakened state. What he should do is find Jecht and Tidus. Surely between the three of them, they could convince Auron to turn aside from this course of action. If need be, Jecht could knock Auron senseless long enough to get him back to the house. But knowing his friend as he did, nothing they could do would make a difference.  
  
Auron had made up his mind -- to give up.  
  
But why? Why now? Where he should be finding happiness, Auron had found despair. He could make no sense of it. The only thing he knew with any certainty was that Auron had spent his entire life and ten years beyond it -- serving others. His path had always been chosen for him: by his destiny, by his duty and by his promises -- he had given everything, endured everything -- never asking for a single thing in return. Auron was the most selfless man he had ever known, and now he had been set adrift by his freedom -- like a prisoner institutionalized by too many years of confinement. Without a cause, the man was lost -- he had no idea how to exist only for himself.  
  
Auron needed a catalyst, something to set him in the direction he needed to go, but he didn't know what that was or even where to begin. He had never felt so completely helpless. "What am I to do? Please... tell me." Braska pleaded in a broken whisper, his eyes filling with tears as he looked up to the sky through the tree limbs -- entreating the Farplane to help him.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Ahhh, now that's a good batch," Tanar said, nodding in approval. He returned the cork to the open seal and gave it a good whack with his palm, then leaned back to savor the last taste in his cup.  
  
Grahl stood immobile, the studded leather suspenders straining against his broad chest, holding the sake cask like he did everything else -- with an effortless strength that seemed to have no limits. His patience was far from infinite though, and he eventually let out a low snarl to get Tanar's attention.  
  
"Oh, right... you can put it down now."  
  
Grahl grunted and set the cask down near the hearth. Then he turned and sauntered silently into the back rooms -- his rapidly swishing tail displaying a final indication of his displeasure.  
  
Tanar tapped his fingers against his chin. Which project should he try to get to today, he wondered. All of a sudden, he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched, and looked out through the doorway and into the cobbled street. The bright mid-morning light outside made it difficult to see clearly. Tanar leaned forward, his long, gray moustache swinging forward by the weight of the beads braided into the ends. He squeezed his dark eyes into a squint -- commanding the nearsighted orbs to give him details.  
  
It's him, Tanar thought immediately. The one he had felt arrive here some time ago. What a mess, came his next thought -- sizing-up the scruffy fellow who had stopped in the street to stare in at him. Figures, he thought sourly, just my luck. The Farplane has decided I'm supposed to help some pathetic vagrant find the true meaning of the afterlife. But how could this shabby looking thing possibly be the object of all the admiration from the villagers? Perhaps he was wrong. This must be a different man. Still, the sense of recognition was there.  
  
Dressing his face in his most intimidating scowl, Tanar raised his chin and shouted into the street. "You there! Have you no decency man? Do you always invade other's privacy in such an uncivilized manner?"  
  
Hoping to see at least a healthy flinch from the bespectacled ruffian, Tanar was disappointed. The only reaction he could discern from this distance was a narrowing of the man's eyes, as he spoke in a rough baritone.  
  
"My apologies."  
  
Interesting, Tanar thought. While the sound of the voice matched the appearance, its inflection did not. Whatever else this man was, he was no guttersnipe. Watching as the man whirled, the tails of his dirty robe swinging out behind his legs, Tanar called out to arrest his departure.  
  
"You could at least offer me the courtesy of an explanation for your intrusive behavior."  
  
The man continued for several steps, and then halted, his head rotating to one side. He seemed to be weighing whether or not to respond, though Tanar was not sure of this. Then the man's voice carried back to him, filled with an odd melancholy.  
  
"I was... intrigued by the smell."  
  
The smell? What could he mean? Fish? Wood shavings? Damp fur? The powdery sachet of age? Then it dawned on him, and he broke into a smile despite himself. It was entirely possible he had just found a man who shared his affection for rice-wine.  
  
Looking over at the sake cask, Tanar said, "It's a new vintage, just tapped it and it's a humdinger. Come have a taste, and tell me what you think."  
  
Tanar looked back up to see only an empty space where the man had been. He was gone.  
  
"Congratulations, you miserable old fart," Tanar said. His crotchety ways had won the day once again. If he had just played his cards right, he could be drinking sake and picking the brains of what had seemed to be a rather compelling man -- however unkempt.  
  
Then it occurred to him that it really was the same man. He recalled what he had told Grahl that day when the 'legendary warrior' had arrived -- that the Farplane would take everything from him. "Seems you did a pretty good job," Tanar said, looking up at the ceiling.  
  
His face drew in on itself and Tanar ran a hand down his wrinkled features. Then he dropped his chin to gaze at his withered legs dangling from the chair -- suddenly wishing he could get very drunk. But the disgraceful thing was, it didn't matter how much you drank here in the Farplane, you never got inebriated.  
  
"Completely unwarranted," Tanar mumbled, then turned to look at his carvings -- to work then. Back to that pastime that never ceased to make him happy, even though he rarely showed it. Why couldn't he have died as a young man, instead of a bitter old cripple -- it just wasn't fair.  
  
It wasn't fair at all. 


	7. Hook, Line and Sinker

Eterna: Chapter 7 -- Hook, Line and Sinker  
  
  
  
"See, I figure it's like this... sometimes you gotta sink to the bottom of the pool before you can swim back up to the top. That's the way it was with me and the booze back on Spira, and it's the same for Auron right now..." Jecht paused, looking through Braska for a moment as he saw the memory of the tortured man he had been. He understood the hell that Auron was going through. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough. "He'll pull himself out of this, Braska... Auron's one tough Legendary Stiff." Jecht finished with a grin, the expression for no one's benefit but his own. Braska's face was still buried in his folded arms -- his hair spilling over them and across the tabletop.  
  
Shit, Jecht thought. He wished he was better at this makin' people feel better stuff. He should probably give the poor guy a hug or somethin.'  
  
Jecht reached out with a tentative hand, and then began to awkwardly pat Braska on the back as gently as he knew how. "Hey, it's gonna be okay..."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
A blessed numbness had enveloped him. It was an overwhelming relief not to care about anything with the exceptions of procuring the occasional meal, and where to sleep when he could no longer remain awake.  
  
He had discovered that conveniently, the social structure here was essentially communal -- everyone shared what they had or produced freely. There had been loaves of bread stacked like cord wood atop a porch bench and just a few days ago, a vegetable pie -- set out for the taking on a windowsill. His stomach still felt heavy with that meal even now. It should be sufficient to sustain him for a good while.  
  
Roaming aimlessly through the streets and back alleys, he concluded he had seen all he cared to of this place. There was nothing for him here, save reminders of that which had been lost. Time to move on -- but where? North, he thought, to the forest, and perhaps all the way to the mountains. A man could lose himself there, with only rocks and snow for companions. If he met any Ronso on the trip he wouldn't mind that. He had always admired that warrior race, even more so since knowing Kimarhi.  
  
Auron reached to his side and lifted his jug in one hand, weighing its contents. He would need to refill it before he left this miserable utopia. It mattered little to him, but expiring from thirst would not be his first choice on how to fade from existence. He would prefer to do that on his own terms, rather than the Farplane's.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
He remembered passing the occasional group of people as he made his way over the grassy hillocks beyond the village, but could not recall what they had been doing or even what they looked like. His mind was not working very well. He suspected he would soon know what it was to be senile -- or worse.  
  
The sun was disappearing now, and he had stopped to observe it set the vast flower fields to flame as it left -- the hues so vivid it hurt to look at them. An evening wind came up as he watched, the intense blossoms morphing into an ocean of color. The forest lay beyond, a dark and motionless fortress against the rippling waves of flowers.  
  
If he rested tonight, he thought, he could easily make the woodland in a day, two at the most. Tearing his gaze from the fields ahead, he began to study his immediate surroundings for a suitable spot to sleep. A short distance to the east, he spied an abandoned building on top of a hill -- its decaying roofline a sagging smile against the sky.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Why would anyone forsake this place? Auron wondered. The view from up here was astounding. It encompassed not only the flower fields and the forest, but the ocean and the gem stoned village to the southwest. It was utterly breathtaking.  
  
The house itself was extremely modest -- a simple structure of axe-cut logs; but he found that appropriate. The natural beauty below should not be tainted by something that called attention to itself. Anything beyond this rustic construction would have been vulgar.  
  
It was obvious the former occupants had long since left when Auron pushed through the door -- the hinges creaking loud enough to make him wince. The interior was completely vacant. Thick layers of dust coated every surface and the musty smell of disuse hung heavy in the air -- the only light delivered by beams of waning sunset through the chinks between the timbers. When his eyes had finished adjusting to the low light, Auron saw that it was basically one large room -- only a single low divider separated the living space from a dismal little kitchen. Despite the derelict state of the place, or perhaps because of it -- Auron decided to stay for the night.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron sat in the dust with his shoulder propped against the sill of a large picture window. He had used the sleeve of his robe to wipe away the grimy film from the glass in order to watch the moons rise and the stars come out. A meteor shower had begun low on the horizon -- the comet remnants blazing long trails of illumination through the dark.   
  
Reaching up, Auron pressed his hand against the windowpane and then spread his fingers -- watching the meteors rush through them. How he wished he could go with them somehow -- streaking through the heavens -- a brief flash of burning light and then gone. He stayed that way until the show was over, and then dropped his hand to his lap, his face still studying the sky. Then Auron's eyes shifted focus and beheld his shadowy reflection in the moonlit glass -- a low groan escaping him before he looked away in revulsion.  
  
The path he had chosen made him sick with shame -- his honor abandoned and his dignity gone. It was despicable. He braced himself for the rush of unwanted thoughts and emotions, but none came. It seemed he had succeeded -- he felt nothing. There was only emptiness now -- deep and powerful and all-consuming emptiness.  
  
It was over. He was free.   
  
"But the price," Auron whispered, "oh, Braska... the price."  
  
Drawing his knees up, Auron draped his arms across them, and then rested his head there too, his eyes closing.  
  
He dreamed that night. He dreamed of dreams.  
  
He dreamed of a sprawling city that never slept; of a young boy with haunted eyes, of a woman's gentle touch against his face, her devoted husband at her side. And sometime just before dawn, he dreamed of a music box -- and a white queen.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The air was moist and rich in the forest surrounding the lake, the abundant growth taking in hydrogen and pumping out oxygen with reckless abandon. Auron had not deviated from his course to admire the picturesque pond, determined to continue forward -- catching flashes of sun speckled cyan between the dark trunks of the trees as he passed. His mind had settled into a dazed apathy and he was paying no attention to where he was going. This was made explicitly clear to him when the toe of his boot met a tree root and he went down hard -- greeting the ground in a big hurry.  
  
"Clumsy lout," Auron said in disgust. He staggered back to his feet, and then wiped the organic matter stuck to his palms against the front of his robe. The energy he was expending on this little trek would require him to consume a bit more fuel, if he was going to make it all the way to the mountains without breaking his fool neck.  
  
He considered for a moment that he was behaving irrationally. Why had it become so important to reach the mountains? What did it matter? He could probably reason it out if he thought about it long enough, but the truth was, he was too weak to think about anything, other than the fact that he was damn hungry. What he could really go for right about now would be a cheeseburger and fries. Unfortunately, that greasy spoon on the east side of Zanarkand was not around the next corner. He would have to settle for nuts and roots if he could find some, or perhaps the lake would provide something. That decided him, and Auron doubled-back to head for the body of water -- his boot heels churning up the carpet of dead needles beneath the towering pines.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The lake was indeed, beautiful. The water so clear the bottom could be seen with no effort -- formations of algae covered quartz strewn across its floor. Small schools of fish and other aquatic life swam lazily through the slow currents beneath the surface. Auron, however, cared little about the scenery -- his dull eyes searching the water's edge for sustenance.  
  
"Hn," Auron muttered, when he targeted a large figure some distance away along the bank to his left -- fur covered arms outstretched over the water. He had not fished since he was a boy, but reasoned it was one of those skills that once learned, was never forgotten. Perhaps the Ronso could be persuaded to part with some line and a hook.  
  
The fuzzy angler was ignoring his approach, but Auron knew full well the Ronso was keenly aware of his presence. Auron slowed as he came closer, then paused -- surprised by the beast's true appearance.  
  
This impressive looking carnivore was perhaps the ancestor of the Ronso, as he knew them. The brow ridges were much thicker and the jaw more pronounced. Then there were the large incisors -- wicked looking points extending down past the lower lip. But what Auron found most intriguing was the catman's coloring. He was as white as the snow on Mt. Gagazet. Not just his fur and the top knot of hair, but the pads of his paws and nose as well. Only his eyes held color -- twin searchlights of pink. Then Auron recalled what this type of coloring was. He had heard tell of it, but had never seen anyone possessed of it. This pseudo Ronso was an albino.  
  
Auron set out again in the Ronso's direction, pushing his glasses up and then bringing his katana to his shoulder as he strode forward. He had no intention of fighting for what he wanted, but reasoned a subtle display of prowess couldn't hurt -- as the Ronso tribe respected little else.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The man stank of dirt and sweat and hopelessness. The man was weak, but not in that part of him where his real power lived. That was still strong, very strong. Grahl thought maybe the man knew this. Grahl didn't like hurting things, but he would if the man asked for it.  
  
"Big sword," Grahl observed casually, then turned his shaggy head back to the water.  
  
"Nice catch," Auron offered in return, looking down at the pile of fish lying in a muddy puddle at Grahl's back.  
  
"Don't touch," Grahl warned, his tail twitching.  
  
"Wouldn't think of it."  
  
Grahl could hear hunger in the man's voice, but he wasn't going to try and take the fish. He was a smart man; Grahl wouldn't need to tear his arms off. Maybe the man was smart enough to make the right kind of fire. Grahl could eat the fish raw, but he liked it better when it was hot and crispy on the outside -- that was tasty.  
  
"Do you know how to cook fish?" Grahl asked skeptically, tilting his head to train one glowing eye on Auron.  
  
"Maybe, but only if you are willing to share," Auron said, gesturing by straightening his elbow out from his side.  
  
Massive white shoulders rose and fell with a weighty sigh. "Grahl will share."  
  
"Very well, then."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The flames hissed as oil dripped from the spitted fish and into the low fire. Auron wiped the blade of his dirk across the knee of his pants, suppressing a chuckle as he watched Grahl swipe a paw across his mouth -- the oversized feline leaning forward in anticipation. His own stomach had been growling uncontrollably and he had to admit, they did smell damn good. But then, he had always thought most everything smelled good when cooked over an open fire.  
  
Testing the meat with the tip of his knife, Auron determined the fish was done and lifted the branch from the fire and suspended it in front of Grahl. The pale beast started to take it all, then looked up at Auron with a sheepish expression as he stopped himself. The chuckle could not be denied then, Auron tilting his head toward the meal. "I only want one, you take the rest."  
  
Grahl didn't need to be told twice. Unsheathing his claws he raked the fish from the stick with both paws and then began to wolf it down -- heads, tails and all, in giant, slobbering chomps.  
  
Auron speared the remaining fish with his dirk and bit into the sweet spot just above the ventral fin, sucking air into his mouth for a second to cool it off. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned his eyes on Grahl. "Do you stay here? At the lake?"  
  
"No, just stopped to get fish," Grahl replied in a food-clogged voice.  
  
"Where are you headed? Auron asked, extending his tongue to remove a fishbone, and then flicking it away with his thumb and forefinger.  
  
"North to Ronso lands then back to village. Grahl can't leave Tanar for very long, Tanar needs Grahl to take care of him," Grahl explained swallowing dramatically, and then happily went about licking the juice from his paws.  
  
"I see," Auron said from around his own mouthful, not bothering to ask who Tanar was. He could care less.  
  
"Where do you go?" Grahl enquired, staring longingly at the fish on Auron's blade -- his eyes never leaving the prize as it moved with Auron's gesturing hand.  
  
"I too journey north, to the mountains."  
  
Maybe the man would 'journey' with Grahl, he cooked good fish. "You come with Grahl?"  
  
Auron considered the invitation, an ironic and bitter smile forming at the edges of his lips. This individual would demand nothing of him, save certain camping duties. He found it fitting that once again a Ronso face would be the last he saw before bowing out. Besides, he rather liked this Ronso's company. Beneath all the fur and muscle and ferocity, there was a simple innocence that felt strangely comforting to him somehow.  
  
"Sounds reasonable."  
  
"Grahl likes you, you don't talk too much."  
  
"Likewise." 


	8. Grim Discoveries

Eterna: Chapter 8 -- Grim Discoveries  
  
  
  
Auron broke through the tangle of ferns and then stepped over the rotted remains of a spruce. They had entered the heart of the forest and the dense undergrowth had become something of a hindrance. Fearing another onslaught of clumsiness, Auron was making his way almost carefully. Avoiding injury was not his concern, but rather retaining the last shreds of his dignity. Dining on dirt in front of a fellow warrior was not something he was eager to do. Not that he had seen all that much of his comrade.   
  
Grahl was out of sight most of the time -- the feline's method of traveling quite different from his own no nonsense approach. The Ronso seemed to be easily distracted and would often bound off through the vegetation to investigate things. Auron had not concluded whether Grahl was a young specimen of his race, or exceedingly slow-witted, but chose to believe the former. Benefit of the doubt was only fair, and would certainly be what he would wish for himself given his own circumstances. Whichever the case may be, Grahl was in essence, a child -- albeit it a rather daunting one. Auron also found it quite remarkable how something so large could be so quiet -- Grahl was amazingly stealthy for his size.  
  
As if to disprove that point, Auron paused at the sound of foliage rustling and a deep snarl coming from directly ahead. Next came a chorus of sharp chittering from a group of small forest-dwellers of some kind -- obviously threatened and making that known in no uncertain terms. Continuing forward, Auron entered a sheltered glade where Grahl stood staring up into the trees -- his tail thrashing wildly from side to side. Auron watched in amusement as a volley of large tree-nuts came arching down from the branches directly above their heads with alarming accuracy, to ricochet off the top of Grahl's head.   
  
The cat warrior's reaction to the attack was immediate and equally comical. Grahl left the ground as though he had been shot from the cannon of a Yat in a gravity-defying leap against the closest tree. Using his claws like picking spikes he began to shinny up the trunk with his leather breechcloth flapping riotously behind him. When he had climbed as high as possible he threw his head back to release a thunderous roar into the treetops. The result of this display was complete silence -- the forest's inhabitants falling quiet in what Auron was sure was a few miles radius. Satisfied he had made his point, Grahl unstuck himself from the bark and dropped to the ground, close enough to Auron that he felt the impact tremor clearly through the soles of his boots.  
  
"After you," Auron said with a chuckle, extending his arm with his palm up.  
  
Grahl shook himself from shoulder to waist in a final note of challenge, and then punctuated the statement with a short chuffing sound before he sauntered off. Even then, it was a good ten minutes before Auron stopped hearing the intermittent sound of soft growls from the pigment-deprived beast.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
They camped that night beside a brook -- its boisterous flow hurrying by on its way to join the lake. Grahl had wasted no time in catching a healthy supply of trout for their supper. Both males sat by the fire in a companionable stupor -- their thoughts and movements rendered uncomplicated by their distended abdomens.   
  
Were it not for his underlying misery, Auron would have been enjoying this. Grahl had not solicited personal information of any kind -- not even asking for his name. He was not Sir Auron, or The Legendary Guardian, nor any of the other overblown titles undeservedly bestowed upon him. He was simply, The Man Who Cooked Good Fish. Perhaps he had missed his true calling, Auron thought wryly. Sliding from the top of the log were he had been sitting, Auron propped his head against it as the fire ebbed to glowing coals and he drifted off into a sated doze.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron woke at daybreak to find himself more alert than he had been in weeks. The steady diet of protein that Grahl's fishing skills provided was beginning to bring him back to full lucidity. His first thought upon waking had been to do something about his deplorable state of hygiene -- he smelled like a Bandersnatch. Not bothering to analyze, Auron obliged this prodding and it wasn't until the cold shock of the stream met his shins that he became fully aware of what was happening. The situation merited close monitoring. If things got out of hand again, he would simply withdraw his mind as he had done before.   
  
"How admirable," Auron mumbled under his breath. Then the frigid water he was standing in chased all other subjects from his head as a long shiver ran up his spine. His bath more cursory than planned, it was less than five minutes before he was stepping out of the creek to get some clothes on -- the skin of his arms and legs contracted in coarse gooseflesh.   
  
He was securing the top button on his pants when it struck him just how much weight he had lost. Frowning, he stretched the generous slack in the garment's waist out in front of him. Releasing his hold on the waistband of his pants he watched them slide past his hips and collect in a wooly heap at his feet. The frown deepened when he raised his arms and ran his hands along his torso. His body had not yet begun to feed on its own muscle -- but that was not far off. His ribs were more prominent than he cared for. It was one thing to be liberated, it was quite another to be powerless. He would not go to that extreme -- it was imperative that he not do that. Again he wondered why, but chose not to dwell on it. He would follow Grahl's example and try to exist in the moment.  
  
Auron pulled the upper strap from his overbelt and used it to cinch his pants around his narrowed waistline. It would not do to have them drop to his ankles at any given moment -- although he could appreciate the comedy relief that might provide. Jecht in particular would enjoy it; he'd have to remember that come the holidays -- it would make a perfect gift.  
  
"Hn." Apparently his returning sense of self included wit. Just what he needed. He could laugh his way to the mountains. Surely the Ronso would be gracious enough to fit him with a straightjacket of some sort when he arrived.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Scrub brush and granite had replaced the verdure of the forest as they closed in on the mountain range. Auron's mood had changed along with the terrain; his lackadaisical attitude merging with a growing urgency that he had yet to find any cause for. Somewhat apprehensive about this turn of thought, Auron had gone from reserved to utterly silent as the temperature steadily dropped and the wind became a harsh clout against bared skin, prompting Auron to slip his exposed limb inside the left sleeve of his robe. Surprised by his own actions, Auron lifted his arm and stared at his hand protruding from the end of the belt-covered opening -- the stiff breeze sending the beaded tassel at his shoulder rattling against his elbow. Then the eager sound of Grahl's voice pointing out a landmark inhibited further contemplation.  
  
"See funny rock? Grahl's brothers not far now."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
It was on the third day through the foothills, that an inexplicable tug to head northeast wrapped itself around Auron's consciousness. Without thinking he led them in that direction -- Grahl content to hover at Auron's heels without question. That close proximity nearly caused Grahl to run Auron over when he came to an abrupt halt at the base of a series of huge rocks against the hillside. Auron grunted and turned his head to the side when Grahl's paw came to rest between his shoulder blades before the Ronso backed off to a comfortable distance.  
  
Then a swirling gust of wind suddenly whipped toward their position and then seemingly straight at Auron -- sending earthy debris spinning around his legs in a brownish whirlwind before it died. The tails of his robe settling back into place, Auron spoke for the first time in days as he studied the igneous formation.  
  
"There is... something here. Something I must see."  
  
Grahl stood unmoving, cocking his head to one side as he watched Auron stride to the rocks and begin to climb. Then he shrugged and followed after -- his clawed toes leaving a deep spoor in the gravelly topsoil behind him.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Gaining the top of the boulder outcrop Auron straightened, the wind determined to harry him as it tore strands of his hair loose from the tie at his nape. In a sudden burst of irritation, Auron reached up and yanked the binding off and then slung it away -- the long-used leather slithering over the rocks behind him like a snake as it disappeared. Dark hair lifted and took wing as a sharpening gaze fixed itself on a black cavity in the side of the hill. A short sortie of purposeful strides brought Auron to his destination. Then his eyes narrowed when he felt a familiar resistance across the surface of the shadowy rift. Hearing Grahl closing fast, Auron turned to block his advance.  
  
"We must part ways here. I'm uncertain as to whether this door swings both ways."  
  
It was clear from the expression on Grahl's face that he didn't understand. "You could be trapped," Auron explained, in terms the beastman could relate to.  
  
Grahl's nostrils flared and his pink eyes went red. "Grahl can't be trapped."  
  
"Exactly," Auron nodded, and then thumped the back of his hand against Grahl's bicep. "I wish you well."  
  
Grahl was given no time to offer his own farewell as he watched Auron's form be swallowed by the cave mouth. Dropping to his haunches, Grahl fought the curiosity that wanted to over-ride his instinct for freedom. Then something more than basal thoughts permeated his mind and the hackles rose on Grahl's neck as his lips curled back from his teeth. Something bad had happened in that hole in the ground and The Man was going to need Grahl's help. Not yet and not here, but back at the start of the forest. Grahl didn't want to go back, he wanted to go to the mountains -- but he liked The Man.  
  
Indecision kept Grahl pinned in place -- his ears twitching as his glowing eyes roved from the snow capped peaks to the distant timberline below. Then a quick sound of frustration huffed through his sharp teeth and he turned and headed back down the rock steps in long, powerful jumps -- his tail curving over his head as he went.   
  
-----------------------------------  
  
A profound sense of iniquity immediately gripped him when he passed through the aperture. There was something very wrong here. Having learned long ago to trust his instincts in these matters, Auron proceeded without hesitation, but kept a keen watch over his surroundings -- his right hand moving to the braided haft over his shoulder.  
  
The inside of the cave resembled a gigantic geode, its roughly spherical shape lined with intricate needles of crystal. Conical pillars of limonite hung from the ceiling, and diffused light emanated from the walls through a glittery dusting of mineral deposits. Pyreflies drifted like beacons along the dimly glowing passages that branched out from the entrance. Auron selected the widest and most central of these -- moving down into the bowels of the surrealistic grotto.  
  
When the sloping tunnel began to narrow, Auron approached the west wall and reached out to scrub the obscuring crust away -- his shoulders moving back with a quick inhale at what lay beyond. The figure of a man hung suspended within the wall, like a bug caught in amber. His face held a look of shock and distress -- his mouth open and his eyes staring sightlessly to one side, his body twisted within the translucent resin. Behind and to either side of this poor soul were others just like him.  
  
Auron stepped back, his fingers grazing through the frosted hair along his temple. This was not unlike the Fayth Cluster back on Spira. Except there was no logical reason for that sort of enslavement to exist now, it made no sense -- but here it was nonetheless. Was it possible the Farplane was using these ensnared cadavers like batteries to power itself? Something told him that wasn't the case, but he could think of no other explanation. Whatever the cause, this entrapment was hideous and grossly unjust. All these people sent to their final rest where they should have been granted peace -- caged instead in these grisly cocoons.  
  
Compelled to explore further, Auron's unease intensified as he made his way forward. There were hundreds of them, possibly thousands. It was like an enormous honeycomb -- the passages winding away in all directions. Becoming hopelessly lost in here would take little effort, and he knew the wise thing to do would be to turn back now -- but he was reluctant. It seemed unfitting to turn his back even in a literal sense. Good judgment ultimately won out over blind valor and Auron did turn back -- retracing his route through the labyrinth.  
  
Despite his best efforts to remain unattached, Auron's outrage and horror grew with every stride of the enforced retreat -- his face set and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The hollow echo of his boots hitting the cave floor quickened as he accelerated to a reckless speed through the dim cavern -- incensed by this place and energized in a way he had not felt since arriving in the Farplane.  
  
When he could no longer stand to look at the gruesome sight of the petrified bodies all around him, he kept his eyes forward -- concentrating on the growing light that told him he was nearing the entrance. He was nearly there when a berm of mineralized earth caught his feet unaware and he went over like a felled tree. Instinctively, he dropped his shoulder as he slammed up against one side of the soul-crypt -- jutting ridges of crystal crushing his loose chest plate against the exposed ribs beneath. Auron slid down the wall with a grunt of pain and leaned his head back against it, trying to calm himself down.  
  
Morbid humor did the trick. He decided that next time he should just make sure he fell on his katana and put an end to this infuriating ineptitude -- for all the good that would do. The Farplane would probably just mend him back together, so he could go about his newfound hobby of seeing just how many different ways he could humiliate himself.  
  
"Enough," Auron growled as he rolled forward and pushed off the floor, turning toward the wall -- where a pair of wide eyes met his own. Then he felt the unseeing stare of that trapped figure reach through the glazed obstruction and tear him asunder.  
  
No. Damn it all -- no.  
  
Auron brought his hands up in a futile gesture, trying to touch the helpless visage that lay beyond his grasp as a groan of despair and recognition rolled out of him in a susurrus wave. Now he knew what had been calling to him and what had led him to this plane: the words once laid to paper and then etched upon his heart.  
  
Look for me.  
  
The sound of Auron's voice rang eerily off the walls of the cavern as his hands pressed desperately against the cold sarcophagus -- his fingers curled into claws against its hardened surface.  
  
"Isabo." 


	9. Knight's Gambit

Eterna: Chapter 9 -- Knight's Gambit  
  
  
  
  
All else was swept away as he looked upon her. At that moment Auron was not a Guardian or a Warrior -- he was simply a man. A man who saw a chance for happiness in that frail avatar just beyond his reach -- he was drowning in despair and Isabo was a lifejacket of hope.  
  
Auron fought for that desideratum when he brought the hilt of his sword forward in defiant anger against the barrier between him and Isabo. The attack only flawed the surface -- a web of hairline cracks radiating out from the point of impact. It was only a matter of seconds before the echo of an exhaled shout bounced off the ceiling and came back -- Auron channeling all his strength into the next strike. An elongated hole appeared as the business end of the katana pierced the thick casing and quivered to a stop less than an inch from Isabo's sternum. Auron knew he could make quick work of the rest with his weapon, but was unwilling to risk it seeing how close he had just come. If his control was off even a fraction -- he might harm her.   
  
Then a sound like a Behemoth sucking a Flan through a straw brought Auron's attention to the cave mouth. The air had begun to ripple and coagulate across it -- the light inside the cavern front suddenly dimming to half its former intensity.  
  
The doorway was closing.  
  
Sheathing his sword, Auron turned back to the wall and threw himself against Isabo's tomb. Wedging his hands in the opening he tore chunks away to either side, and then braced his boot against the wall as he pried another block loose, larger than the last. The fragments continued to fall away behind him, as Auron's hands turned to bloody rags -- uncaring of what he was doing to himself in his determination to reach her.  
  
His breathing reduced to moaning gasps, Auron fell to his knees in the debris and reached into the opening. His fingers left scarlet prints along the garment that Isabo had died in -- the paper gown falling apart as he pulled her through and lowered her to the floor of the cavern. Hissing at the indignity of it, Auron's chivalry silenced the voice in his head that said he was wasting time as he grabbed at his overbelt -- hurriedly removing his robe. He started to enclose her in it then paused when he realized just how disgusting the fabric had become -- ashamed to be dressing her in such filth.  
  
"I am sorry," Auron whispered, wrapping Isabo up and bringing her with him as he came to his feet. Then he turned and ran at the cave entrance in long, loping strides. When he reached the portal he slowed and brought his boot up -- testing the strength of the membrane before he pushed through and into the fresh air and light on the other side.  
  
He was barely beyond the entry when Auron felt and heard an implosion of energy and whirled to see only rock where the entrance to the other plane had been just moments before. A shouted curse filled the air as Auron lowered Isabo to the ground and then ran back to the sealed entrance. Auron pounded his fist against the unyielding stone -- that angry gesture followed swiftly with another as he drew his blade. The rock cried out when the friction of steel ground a series of long scars into its face -- Auron creating a pattern that would not be mistaken for one that might occur naturally. Satisfied he had marked the location clearly, Auron returned to the heartrending bundle he had left behind.   
  
Sinking to the ground, Auron cradled Isabo in one arm and raised a freshly healed hand -- first to brush her hair back and then to press itself against her cheek, his thumb grazing across her chin. Her skin was frozen to the touch and had a blue cast -- but it was not cold that made her this way. There was power at work here, on a scale that was very disquieting. Absorbing the implications of that idea, Auron's head came up and his eyes searched the horizon -- as though the perpetrator lay in hiding somewhere and if discovered, could be challenged.  
  
Then Auron's head snapped down when Isabo's limbs began to spasm violently -- her body gripped by a terrifying seizure and her eyes grown wide with suffering. Then before Auron could stop them, her hands flew like pale birds to her face and she began to claw at the skin of her cheeks -- her mouth falling open in a silent scream.  
  
Auron grabbed Isabo's wrists and wrenched her hands away then pulled her into a firm embrace -- desperately trying to soothe her. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for something like this, and Auron was as close to panic as he was capable of. All he could think to do was to keep her from harming herself until this passed. So he held her fast against him, unaware he had begun to rock back and forth as he gave voice to his thoughts.  
  
"It's all right, I am with you... you are safe, it's all right."   
  
The tenderly voiced mantra continued until Isabo finally calmed and became still. Auron held her out from his chest to watch her features go slack and her eyes return to a sightless stare. He didn't know if she had been fighting or defending -- only that she was all alone in there with the monsters giving chase.  
  
"Damn."  
  
There was nothing he could do for her. He had been deprived of all his magics and even if he had retained them -- they would be of no use in this situation. This was beyond his abilities. The skills of a mage were needed and there was no time to waste. He must get Isabo back to the village. Surely Braska could restore her -- to herself and to him.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron did not rest. His pace was steady by day and unwavering by night -- as even the dark could not stop him. He used the canopy-filtered moonlight then, transferring Isabo's weight to one arm and suspending his katana out in front of him -- feeling his way forward and slashing his way blindly through the forest. If he fell -- and he did -- he would rotate his body to take the blow from the ground, keeping Isabo unharmed. Then he would gain his feet again and lunge forward -- thrusting continuously against his opponent -- never giving way or losing sight of the objective.  
  
This cycle of light and shadow, of falling and rising was all he knew until he reached the treeline and saw the flower fields ahead. He was close. He was almost there. His legs shaking with fatigue he set out again, his movements like those of a drunkard now -- stumbling and halted. The chest-high blooms of the fields were not sweet to his senses, but only an obstacle in his path -- their constant perfume turned cloying and claustrophobic.   
  
He was almost a third of the way through the fields when an excruciating series of cramps twisted his entire back from waist to shoulders. His head jerked backwards involuntarily and the sinewy cords along his neck bulged as Auron gritted his teeth against the need to stop -- instead attempting to free the locked muscles by adjusting Isabo's boneless weight in his arms.  
  
And that's when his strength finally left him.  
  
His knees struck ground first as his legs collapsed under him and he was unable to turn in time -- pressing Isabo helplessly into the soft loam beneath him. Quickly rolling to his back with a deep groan, he craned his neck to look at the soiled mess he had made of her. A low sound of desolation made its way past Auron's lips as he freed one arm from around her and tried to clean the dirt from her face and hair. But his fingers only created long smears of damp earth across her cold skin and he stopped trying -- his body going lax.  
  
Looking up to the tops of the flowers above them it seemed to Auron as though they had at last been put to rest -- their final farewells waving vibrantly over their shared grave. He closed his eyes against the sight -- the sight of his final failure. Then something escaped from beneath the raven lashes on the right side of Auron's face and tracked down the valley of the scar below it -- glistening in the white streaks of his beard like a drop of dew.  
  
-----------------------------------   
  
Uncertain how long he had lain there half-conscious with Isabo's limp body draped across him, Auron forced his eyes open when he heard movement in the flowers to see Grahl bending over him. Auron wrapped an arm around Isabo's waist and tried to sit up -- a huge paw pressed against his shoulder forcing him back to the ground.   
  
"Don't try. There is no more," Grahl said shaking his head slowly.  
  
Auron stared back in resignation. Grahl was quite correct. He was done in.  
  
With his last ounce of strength, Auron reached up and grasped Grahl by one suspender -- pulling himself close enough to be heard clearly, his voice raw and commanding. "Get her to the village. Find a man named Braska. He will help her."  
  
Grahl did better than that. He leaned over and scooped both Auron and Isabo into his arms with a deep growl of effort, and then took off in a full sprint through the flowers -- their long stalks snapping under his churning legs.   
  
"Grahl slow d-down, you cannot maintain this pace, you'll b-burn out," Auron stuttered weakly, his head bouncing off Grahl's shoulder as he clung desperately to Isabo's ragdoll form.  
  
Grahl ignored the behest, continuing at top speed through the field. "Grahl is strong. Grahl can run forever."  
  
Auron uttered a single word in response and even managed to deliver it with a smirk before he lost consciousness.   
  
"Braggart." 


	10. Fire and Ice

Eterna: Chapter 10 -- Fire and Ice  
  
  
  
  
"Stop that this instant," Tanar demanded, pausing in the hallway that connected the back rooms to the workshop. His command went unheeded as he rolled forward again -- the left wheel of what he affectionately called his 'butt bucket' squeaking like a tortured marmot. The damn noise had been growing steadily worse over the past week. He had tried several times to silence the complaining part by spitting on the axle, to no avail. The maddening sound had returned shortly after each attempt -- louder and shriller than ever.  
  
The workshop was dark and cold as he entered. If Grahl had been in residence the lights would already be on, horrendously bad coffee would be brewing, and a fire large enough to roast a Dingo would be blazing at the hearth. The big lummox had been gone longer than usual. Tanar never begrudged Grahl his little expeditions -- fully accepting the manbeast's need to make them, but he had grown accustomed to the company and at times would feel lonely when Grahl was absent. The thought that he could alleviate that by actually making friends with someone other than Grahl had crossed his mind on more than one occasion over the years, but he had shunned that idea long ago. He found most people aggravating and never wasted time telling them so -- an attitude not conducive to forming bonds. For the most part he was content in his isolation and had become adept at entertaining himself -- clearly demonstrated by his consequent actions as he wheeled noisily into the center of the front room.  
  
Tanar squeezed one eye closed and raised his right arm with his forefinger extended straight out and his thumb held upright -- the lights coming on in succession as he aimed at each in turn -- making bullet sounds through the side of his mouth. Target practice complete, he turned his attention to the fireplace where the pile of carving scraps from the prior day's work waited. Tanar finished the morning's amusement by using stronger thought than necessary -- the kindling exploding into flame in a strident mix of color and sound. Humming to himself in a gravely and completely off-key voice, Tanar rolled forward and raised his hands to the warmth, flexing his fingers.  
  
When the chill had been sufficiently taken from his old bones, Tanar began to think about the day ahead. Turning toward the front door he winked it ajar -- morning light flooding across the slate tiles of the floor as it opened. The sight of an empty walkway pleased him. All of his current work had been completed and then brusquely flung through the doorway of the shop and into the street -- to be picked up by passers-by who found something to their liking. Time to start a new project or two. He was mulling over the ideas that had been running through the back of his mind when he heard the thudding slap of heavy treads against the stone cobbles and the harsh rasp of rapid panting. Grahl crouched and turned sideways as he trundled through the door, the sound of his labored breathing more pronounced in the enclosed space.  
  
"My, my... look what the cat dragged in," Tanar said calmly, then pointed behind him at the futon just on the other side of the broad hearth.  
  
Grahl was far too tired to be careful, and Auron and Isabo hit the cushions with an ungraceful thwump -- Tanar grimacing at the indelicate delivery. Grahl did his best to make up for it by tidying the loose tangle of limbs and twisted posture before he took a step backwards and flopped to the edge of the hearth. Leaning over his knees, his back bowing with each rapid inhale, Grahl pointed at the bodies and nodded his head as if hoping that might be an adequate explanation.   
  
"Settle down first," Tanar directed, "or you'll pop your cork."  
  
When his respiration slowed enough, Grahl told his tale in short, clipped sentences -- relying on Tanar to fill in the gaps.  
  
"The Man said to find another man called Braska," Grahl concluded.  
  
Tanar scratched his head. "Hmm... I've heard about him, he's that High Summoner that showed up about ten years ago. But I'm not sure where in the village this Braska is."  
  
"Maybe Jaren knows."  
  
"Right," Tanar said snapping his fingers and then pointing in the air. "You can't blow your nose without that old fusspot knowing about it. Go see her and get directions, find this Braska, then high tail it back here. Think you can do all that?"  
  
"Grahl is smart enough."  
  
"What I'm asking, you fur-faced-trout-squeezer, is if you're up to it. In case you haven't noticed, you're a little worn out."  
  
Grahl's reply was a glowering snarl as he rose and strode audaciously through the front door.  
  
Chuckling, Tanar swiveled himself around to examine the cheerless pair. He reached down and pressed his hand against Auron's forehead, his eyes closing for a moment, then duplicated the act on Isabo. The warrior's problem was severe exhaustion -- the woman's was far worse. She was, for all intents and purposes, a frozen turnip. If he could get a better look at her, he might be able to figure out what in the blue blazes was wrong with her, he thought -- lodging his fingers under Auron's forearm and giving it a healthy yank.  
  
"Sweet mother of Mi'ihen," Tanar said through clenched teeth, now tugging on Auron's limb with both hands. It was no good. The man's arms were locked around the female -- there was no separating them short of breaking his arms, which Tanar considered a tad drastic.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Tanar was not overjoyed by the parade of people that came through the door a short time later, welcoming them with a scowl. "Oh well sure, come on in everybody... men, women, children. We'll have a party."  
  
"Hey, you..." Jecht started, then Braska cut him off.  
  
"Excuse the intrusion... sir?"   
  
"Tanar. I won't bother acquainting you with Grahl as I'm sure his name is firmly embedded, seeing as how he repeats it every other word."  
  
Braska glanced at Grahl to observe him ignore the slur and decided he would as well. "I would have come alone, but we are all here as Auron's family, such as that is."  
  
"All right, but spare me the introductions and just be about your business," Tanar said ungraciously, wheeling forward to reveal the unfortunate sight of Auron and Isabo's reclining forms.  
  
Dwen gasped and brought a hand to her mouth.   
  
Jecht leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. "Man, he really looks like shit."  
  
"No kidding," Tidus agreed wide-eyed. It was disturbing to him to see Auron like this -- it seemed to go against the natural order of things. Without consciously knowing it he had always counted on the man's solid strength -- seeing it diminished made him feel vulnerable in a way he couldn't fully articulate.   
  
Braska sighed. "Anyone else care to comment? Now's your chance."  
  
"I like the beard... it's very distinguished," Melia offered.  
  
With friends like these who needs enemas, Tanar thought crossly. "Is this your idea of offering comfort? If so, just take him and the woman and darken someone else's doorway. I've got better things to do than suffer this unmitigated tripe."  
  
"You can take your trash-talk and..." Jecht began, stepping toward Tanar. Then Jecht suddenly found his face buried in white fur -- his head vibrating with the menacing growl that rumbled through Grahl's chest.  
  
Jecht looked up, his expression turning from angry to deadly. "You want some, hairball?"  
  
Dwen spoke up then, her cheeks turning red with the rare expression of disapproval. "Stop it, all of you. None of this is helping."  
  
Braska sustained her with a smile. "Well said, my dear."  
  
"Yeah, take it easy," Tidus suggested with a flamboyant wave of his arms, thinking Tidus from the past wouldn't have minded watching his old-man get his ass handed to him by this creepy looking Ronso.  
  
Jecht took a step back from Grahl and crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, but the old geezer had better watch what comes out of his yap."  
  
Tanar tried to shove Grahl aside, but only managed to budge him enough to allow him to peer around his torso. "May I remind you that you're in my home? I can speak as I see fit." He was sorely tempted to add more, but considered it a waste of intellect -- this muscle-bound thimblewit was obviously all mouth and trousers.  
  
Before Jecht could make matters worse, Braska interceded. "Please accept our apologies. We are most grateful for your assistance on our friend's behalf. If we appear to trivialize the matter it is only our way of dealing with adversity and should not to be taken seriously. This man means a great deal to us."  
  
"I'll grant you a quantity of patience given the circumstances, but I'll brook no further impudence," Tanar said grandly, twirling one end of his mustache between bony fingers.  
  
Jecht mumbled something under his breath, but kept himself in-check.  
  
Braska simply nodded and then sank to the edge of the futon next to Auron and the pitiable creature clutched to his chest -- the others gathering behind him in a loose knot. The low-level spell Braska cast was enough to revive Auron, and he looked decidedly perplexed for a few moments before he registered the identity of the face he was blinking up at.  
  
"How are we feeling today?" Braska asked with a teasing smile.  
  
"Dead tired," Auron countered dryly. His entire body felt like lead.  
  
Braska raised his hand intending to begin the incant, and then stopped when Auron said 'save it' with his eyes and a tilt of his chin at the top of Isabo's head. Arguing would be a waste of energy, Braska knowing he had none to spare if he was going to follow Auron's wishes. High-level spells took their toll and the woman was undoubtedly going to need them. Auron did his best to assist, shrugging Isabo off to one side. Braska gently supported her shoulders and head to finish the move, and then carefully began to diagnose her condition.  
  
Suddenly becoming fully aware of the audience, Auron turned his gaze to the cluster of expectant faces wordlessly watching over Braska's shoulder. Their continued silence was immediately ensured with a look no rational person would dare defy, weakened Auron or no.  
  
The long minutes ticked by and Tidus struggled with his hyperactive nature -- managing to resist the burning temptation to tap his foot against the floor. He was convinced even that would result in a swift gutting from his former mentor.  
  
A collective exhale was released around the room when at last, Braska shook his head, his face pinched in concentration. "I'm not sure, Auron... I've never seen anything like this. She seems to be in some sort of stasis."  
  
"Poor thing," Dwen said quietly, laying a hand on Braska's shoulder.  
  
Tidus eagerly used the provided segue, tactlessly saying what was on more than one of their minds. "I'll bet she used to be kind of pretty... I wonder who she was?"  
  
Auron thought it fortuitous he couldn't move just then, as he was quite sure he would have buried his boot in Tidus' backside. "Her name is Isabo. She is from your Zanarkand," He explained in a dangerously low voice.  
  
"Really?" Tidus asked recklessly, stepping closer to examine Isabo in a fervent curiosity. "She a friend of yours? You never mentioned her."  
  
"Possibly because it was none of your damned business," Auron growled, his temper flaring even brighter. Then he looked at Braska. "Can you help her or not?"  
  
Braska's reply was measured and calm, but the hurt leaked through. "I'll do my best for her, Auron. You have my word on that."  
  
"Of course you will," Auron said, regretting his previous tone. Managing to raise his hand, Auron rubbed his fingers fiercely across his forehead as if he was trying to burrow his way into it -- his voice losing all its normal confidence as he spoke in a halting sadness. "Forgive an old fool. She was a dream... but she was... I still..."  
  
Braska stared silently, putting things together. Auron would help anyone in need, it was in his nature -- but there was far more going on here than that. Braska knew at that moment beyond a doubt, that Auron, though he wasn't admitting it even to himself -- loved this woman. He also knew that this could be the catalyst he had prayed for.  
  
An entire world had been healed by the quiet determination they all heard in Braska's voice. "I must ask everyone save Auron to leave. There can be no distractions."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Jecht was the first out the door, but didn't go far -- sauntering around the side of the building and leaning up against it with one arm. Then he reached up to absently adjust his headband, impatiently waiting for the others to leave.  
  
Tanar thought he should be arguing vehemently about the fact that he was being asked to vacate his own home, but he had decided to go along with it. The High Summoner had treated him with deference -- something a man in his lofty position did not often volunteer. He considered telling them that this was in all likelihood, an exercise in futility. His connection to the ways of the Farplane gave him the distinct feeling that the woman was here to provide healing, rather than receive it -- but he kept that insight to himself.   
  
"Good fortune, gentlemen," Tanar said almost kindly, then looked up at Grahl, poking him in the chest with one spindly finger. "Let's head for the commons. I need some grease for my chair and you look like you could use one of Prishy's crabcakes."  
  
"You two come with me," Melia instructed crisply, grabbing Tidus and Dwen by the hands and pulling them out the door.  
  
"What are we doin?" Tidus inquired, feeling a little giddy at the sensation of his hand pressed in Melia's as they threaded their way through the narrow streets.  
  
"We're going back to the cottage. We'll put together some toiletries and find some proper clothes for Isabo. It may seem silly, but I think she'll appreciate it."  
  
"I know I would," Dwen said. No woman would want to look the frightful mess that Isabo was.  
  
"You don't need me for that, do ya?" Tidus whined. Helping out in the kitchen was one thing, but Melia was talking about serious girl stuff here, and he didn't think he wanted to participate.  
  
"You have something better to do?"  
  
"Not really, but if you'll just give me a minute..."  
  
"Oh shush."  
  
---------------------------------   
  
"Braska," Auron said in a hushed and urgent tone, the two of them now safely out of earshot.  
  
"What is it?" Braska asked, leaning close.  
  
"There are more like Isabo... an entire plane full."  
  
"Oh Yevon," Braska breathed, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
"You may not be far from the truth." Then Auron went on to explain what he had experienced in the cave and its subsequent closure in a characteristic economy.  
  
Braska steepled his hands and tapped his forefingers against his chin. "Isabo is our immediate concern. As for the rest, we will deal with that in due course."  
  
Auron grunted his agreement and said nothing more when he saw Jecht coming back through the door.  
  
"I'm staying," Jecht said firmly, his body posture indicating he would not be swayed.  
  
"Why?" Auron asked suspiciously.  
  
"Because I feel like it," Jecht retorted, thinking that he wasn't going anywhere -- he knew the signs. Auron had lost his cool and was damn close to a full-on meltdown.  
  
"That's a poor rationale."  
  
Braska effectively silenced the two men with a stern reprimand. "This idle jousting serves no purpose."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
It had been over an hour since Braska had started and Jecht could tell the man was reaching his limit from his position in the corner. The non-stop spells lingered in the room in gyroscopic layers of glowing circles and runes -- Braska building his magic in an orchestration of skill that was hypnotic in its masterful execution.  
  
And through all of it Isabo hadn't so much as twitched a finger -- lying on top of Tanar's worktable like a sheet of white marble, still wrapped in the red of Auron's robe.  
  
Braska wiped a forearm across his brow, his shirt turned transparent in matching stripes of sweat down his chest and back. There was only one weapon left in his arsenal, and he chose to wield it without a second thought.   
  
"Braska don't," Auron said in sudden alarm, grasping Braska's wrist before he could lay his hand against Isabo's body when he realized what Braska was about to do.  
  
"It's all right, Auron... releasing a small amount will do me no harm. Trust me in this."  
  
Scrutinizing Braska's face, Auron conceded and released his grip.  
  
Jecht wasn't sure what was going on until he saw Braska's whole body shudder and a silver braid of light escape from him to mingle with the cast of Esuna. Braska had just sacrificed a part of his spirit essence to combine it with the powerful spell.   
  
A weak smile of triumph spread across Braska's face when a he saw animation slowly fill Isabo's body and her eyes swim into focus. She looked first at Braska and then toward Auron, her lips parting to speak. The sounds that came from her arrested Auron's heart -- an unintelligible stream of moaning gibberish.  
  
"Isabo!" Auron cried shaking her by the shoulders, demanding a coherent response. Isabo only looked at him blankly as her frame lurched bonelessly in his hands -- a trickle of spittle leaking from the corner of her mouth to trace down her chin.  
  
"Auron... her mind is..." Braska started, unable to finish when Auron turned his head to meet his gaze -- the look in Auron's eyes freezing the words in his throat. Braska had thought he had seen all levels of anguish possible -- until now. The loss and devastation reflected in those auburn depths was enough to drive him from sanity and he had to look away. He understood now what had aged his friend so far beyond his years. Auron had externalized his agony -- no one could endure that much pain and not be destroyed by it.  
  
His hand bracing against Auron's shoulder, Braska pushed himself upright -- suddenly feeling ancient and frail. A strong and reassuring arm was slipped around his shoulders; Jecht's voice a low murmur in his ear.   
  
"Come on, let's get some air."  
  
Braska made no objection, allowing Jecht to guide him through the door and into the sunlight -- Auron clearly needed to be left alone for a little while.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Jecht's arm had not left its place from around him and Braska was grateful for that comfort -- the two men leaning against each other in silence as they waited just outside Tanar's front door.  
  
Then Jecht and Braska spun together at the sound of an unrestrained roar from within the house and ran back inside to see Auron pressing his hands against Isabo's body. Dual fountains of crimson energy began to flow down Auron's arms and pass through the ends of his fingers -- cloaking Isabo's form in a fiery shroud.  
  
"No, Auron!" Braska cried, watching the man begin to fade and his shape become misted -- threatening to sputter-out like a candle snuffed by a giant, unseen breath.  
  
Braska lunged forward and grabbed Auron's arm, attempting to break his hold. Auron reacted by releasing Isabo just long enough to shove Braska aside with a moaning growl. Then Auron returned his palms to her solar plexus -- his entire frame shaking uncontrollably and his face drawn into an agonized grimace as he continued to pour his spirit-force out upon the catatonic form beneath his hands.  
  
"Jecht! Help me!" Braska wailed desperately, beginning to rise from the floor where he had been thrown.  
  
With the speed and agility that had made him a legend, Jecht leapt at Auron's back and looped his arms beneath the man's armpits, then brought them around and locked his hands behind Auron's neck -- the muscles along his back flexing as he pulled Auron away. Then Jecht threw himself backwards pulling Auron's weight with him -- both men grunting loudly when they slammed into the hard surface of the floor. Jecht's hold loosened just enough to allow Auron to twist in Jecht's grasp and he snapped his forearm upright from the elbow -- his tensed hand meeting Jecht's chin and bouncing the back of Jecht's head off the stone tile. Jecht shouted a curse and shook his head -- stubbornly hanging on.  
  
His anger gave him the extra strength he needed. Jecht loosed a bellow and flipped Auron over, locking his body against the struggling man beneath him and then wedged his arm under Auron's chin -- effectively pinning him to the floor. Auron grunted and writhed like a wild man, bucking his hips trying to throw Jecht off. Braska didn't know how Auron was doing this -- he should be as weak as a kitten.  
  
Falling to his hands and knees, Braska leaned down until his face was suspended inches from Auron's own and spoke in a soft but powerful voice that could not be denied. "Listen to me, Auron... it won't work. You'll just be throwing yourself away. Please... if you care for us at all... please stop."  
  
Braska's words cut through Auron's madness and he suddenly went limp.   
  
"Get off me," Auron said then.  
  
"Not 'til you tell me you're done," Jecht growled, the adrenaline still racing through him evident in his tone. Auron answered the question with his eyes -- and Jecht allowed him up.  
  
"Auron..." Braska said softly, afraid of what Auron might still be willing to do when he gathered Isabo into his arms.  
  
Auron walked stiffly to the doorway and then paused on the threshold, his voice barely audible. "Do not be concerned, I am merely going to take her from this place. I am thankful to you for trying to..." Then Auron's words abruptly stopped and he left without finishing his thoughts.  
  
Jecht and Braska followed silently outside, watching as Auron headed down the street with his sad burden. Then he was lost from sight as he disappeared into the cheerful crowds of people strolling through the village.  
  
"Damnit, Braska..." Jecht said, his voice tight with emotion. Then he whirled around and raised his fist to shake it at the sky. "What the hell are you doing? This isn't right... do ya hear me?"  
  
"Don't, Jecht... just... don't," Braska pleaded wearily, bringing his hands to the top of his head in despair. 


	11. Hard Road

Eterna: Chapter 11 -- Hard Road  
  
  
  
  
The incline was just steep enough to set the muscles of her calves burning, but Melia pressed on. She was unwilling to be outpaced by Dwen, who was not yet breathing hard, even with the added weight of supplies she was toting up the hill. Melia suspected that underneath that timid exterior beat the heart of a She-Coeurl.  
  
Melia breathed a sigh of relief when they finally topped the rise and the dilapidated cabin came into full view. "Whew! That's some workout."  
  
"Oh, Melia... look," Dwen said, tugging on Melia's sleeve and inclining her head behind them.  
  
"What?" Melia answered spinning around, then felt her jaw unhinge at the sight of the incredible panorama spread out below.  
  
"Fuf!"  
  
Dwen had no idea what Melia had just said, but the inflection indicated she agreed with her about the view. Exchanging broad smiles the two women then turned as one and headed for the run-down building.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
A shadowy figure crouched in the northwest corner of the room, arms draped across kneecaps. It had not moved or made a sound for a long time. Its only purpose: to keep watch over the pale figure propped up by the same bend of two walls meeting on the opposite side of the room. Every shuddering breath, every loose-necked roll of the head or disjointed utterance was registered and catalogued in a torturous inventory of sorrow.  
  
Then sounds from outside impelled the eyes of the sentinel to leave their charge and pan slowly across the dust motes floating in the shafts of sunlight at the front window, finally coming to rest on the entrance door. Those approaching female voices engaged in sisterly conversation -- their friendly banter unobstructed and bright angered him. The irrational offense was embraced and acted on when the figure rose swiftly and strode to the door. He didn't know how they had found him or why they were here and he didn't care. He only wanted to be left in peace.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
The house looked thoroughly deserted, and Melia thought that Grahl must have been wrong about Auron hiding out here. She was reaching for the latch when the door was suddenly jerked open in a shriek of rusty hinges.  
  
"Begone!" Auron boomed, scowling down at the two women in an intimidating mass of lean muscle.  
  
Dwen jumped and then shrank back, grabbing for the container of shampoo that threatened to tumble from atop her armload -- suddenly sure she was about to become violently incontinent.  
  
The sister of Cid however, was having none of it -- unimpressed by the shouted command. "No," Melia said, her foot stamping against the ground. "We're here to help whether you like it or not. Let us in."  
  
Auron's response said go away with every tersely enunciated syllable. "There is nothing you can do for me."  
  
"Then let us do something for her," Melia said in a calm anger, "or would that be too much of a bother."  
  
Auron's eyes flickered over the top of his glasses, Dwen seeing pain and guilt in that flash of emotion before it died. She herself had known both in full measure and felt a keen stab of pity for the man.  
  
Without speaking, Auron stepped back from the door.  
  
Melia wrinkled her nose and Dwen suppressed a gasp as they entered and took in the condition of the place.  
  
"I think you'd better count on us being here for the day," Melia stated decisively, her hands coming to her hips as she inspected the dingy quarters.  
  
Auron said nothing in response, his rigid stance and crossed arms speaking for him.  
  
Deciding to just ignore the Taciturn Tower of Auron, Melia and Dwen walked over to the corner and sank down in front of Isabo. "Let's get her cleaned up first, then we'll start on the rest."  
  
Dwen nodded and supported Isabo with a hand on her waist, while Melia started to strip Auron's robe from her. Hearing no movement from behind them, the women exchanged a meaningful glance.  
  
Melia looked back over her shoulder. "Unless you want to watch, I suggest you take a walk or something."  
  
Rosy color bloomed across Auron's cheeks, blending down into his beard. It was the first time Dwen had ever seen Auron blush, and thought how out of place it looked on his austere features. It seemed to her to reveal an appealing vulnerability -- a side of the man she would never in a million years have guessed existed.  
  
Auron roughly cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up, then whirled and headed for the door -- his back as straight as a board.  
  
Melia caught him before he was gone, her voice retreating from its earlier harshness. "We'll come back. As long as... as long as we need to."  
  
There was no answer forthcoming from the stiff wall of black leather as Auron left.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
The walk down the hill had cleared his head to some extent and Auron looked right and then left, briefly indecisive. He raised his hand and stroked at his beard several times before the unconscious act made up his mind for him. Melia and Dwen's mercy visit had him contemplating the value of making an effort to be normal. And like them, he realized there might be some comfort in that -- however delusive it may be.  
  
---------------------------------   
  
"Morning," The woman said with good cheer. If ever there was someone in need of her wares, it was this man. He had been eyeing the straight razors with a discerning gaze for some time -- his face a study of sober evaluation. Her greeting brought his head up, and a flash of reflected light bounced off his sunglasses and straight into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.   
  
"What would you consider a fair trade for this?" The man enquired without returning the pleasantry, pointing at his selection.  
  
The razor he indicated was the simplest in design, but the workmanship of the metal was the best her brother could produce. "What do you have to offer?" She asked pleasantly enough.  
  
"Very little," He replied woodenly, the gesture of his arms rising from his sides indicating all he had was on his person.  
  
Her first inclination was to ask for the shades. The young man she had been seeing of late would look quite sexy in them -- the thought bringing a subtle leer to her angular features. But they seemed to be a part of the man in a way that went beyond a simple accessory -- and she couldn't bring herself to take them from him.  
  
"Tell you what, if you'll make a delivery for me on the far side of the village, we'll call it even on the razor and I'll throw in some soap and a brush. How's that sound?"  
  
"Comparatively generous," He answered, his sensuously full lower lip moving upward in a charming quirk.  
  
She decided right then and there that despite his overly rugged appearance, this guy was downright scrumptious. An inward shiver ran through her and she smiled, enjoying it. "Wait right here and I'll put you... um I mean take your... get the stuff." She finished lamely.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Thanks to his willingness to make several more deliveries or otherwise help himself, Auron had obtained everything he felt he needed for the time being: two work shirts and a pair of pants, bread, fruit, a round of cheese, and a large Bluefin Tuna. All but the latter were slung over his shoulder in a makeshift rucksack -- the fish he held by the tail, its length swinging at his side like a bludgeon at the ready.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"I doubt that's for me," Tanar said in a sly mockery.  
  
Auron's reply returned the derision. "An astute observation."  
  
"The warrior's armament includes a sharp tongue."  
  
"Your lack of good manners obliges one to wield that weapon."  
  
Tanar threw his head back and had a good laugh at that. It had been a long time since he had traded barbs with a worthy opponent.  
  
"Just don't stand there, come on in."  
  
Auron crossed the threshold and held the fish up. "Is he here?"  
  
"Afraid not. He went north again, said something about a missed visit with his brothers."  
  
"I see."  
  
Tanar reversed his chair and pointed down the hallway. "Feel free to stow his pungent gift in the larder, you'll find a small freezer unit near the back." Then Tanar had a thought and smiled. "And while you're at it, grab the cask. I think we could both do with a taste."  
  
"Sake?" Auron asked, his attention fully captured.  
  
"Correct," Tanar answered, the word barely out of his mouth before Auron was heading down the hallway.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
"Well?"  
  
Auron looked at the bottom of his cup and then up at Tanar, a smile playing briefly at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent."  
  
Grinning, Tanar lifted the decanter. "More?"  
  
---------------------------------  
  
The two men weren't exactly drunk, as that was not possible, but they were definitely relaxed. They had been companionably sharing their favorite beverage in relative silence -- Tanar leaning loosely against the back of his chair, Auron with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.  
  
"Damned mosquitoes," Tanar suddenly proclaimed with a frown, slapping at his thigh just above the knee -- his fingernails scratching at the skin. Then he looked over at Auron to see him glancing at the withered flesh of his legs, his eyes discreetly moving away a second later.   
  
Tanar chuckled. "Go ahead, ask."  
  
"Forgive me, but I find it... curious that the Farplane chose not to restore your limbs to you."  
  
"As it did your eye?"  
  
"How do you know my eye was restored?"  
  
"Not sure. I just do... I've been here a very long time."  
  
"Do you have any sense of just how long?"  
  
"Long enough to witness Spira's inhabitants destroy themselves several times over, along with the world around them. We never cease behaving like fools."  
  
"You'll get no argument from me."  
  
"A sake man and a fellow cynic... I think I've found a soul mate."  
  
"Don't start picking out furniture just yet," Auron said with a smirk, extending his arm.  
  
Tanar cackled and refilled Auron's cup. "Yeah, we're going to get along just fine, you and I."  
  
Auron unceremoniously threw back the sake and then looked out the door, checking the angle of the sun. "I should be going soon."  
  
The way Auron had spoken just then compelled Tanar to offer something he often felt, but rarely expressed -- compassion. "You do realize she's not coming back don't you? Not until you figure things out."  
  
Auron was no longer amused. This man was full of surprises and he had grown weary of being on the receiving end. Tanar obviously had insights he wasn't sharing. "Would you care to enlighten me?"  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that all this has been made to happen for your benefit?" Tanar said, throwing another bone.  
  
Auron's eyes narrowed. "Elucidate."  
  
"I think I've said enough."  
  
His patience gone, Auron reached across the table and gathered the front of Tanar's shirt in one hand. "Tell me what you know."  
  
Tanar laughed in his face. "And if I refuse? What will you do? Sorry to break it to you, but there's nothing you can do to me that has not already been done, so save your threats for someone who cares."  
  
His eyes darkened in anger and frustration, Auron released his hold on Tanar, but he didn't do it gently. Then Auron pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, his sword-hand clenching into a fist at his side. "What is it you want from me? Do you wish me to beg for your counsel? Will that satisfy you?"  
  
Tanar jerked his shirt back into place. "No."  
  
Auron stood silent and unmoving, his gaze burning into the flesh of Tanar's wizened face.  
  
"All right, all right. I'll tell you what needs be done, but I warn you, you may not find it an easy task," Tanar said, then pointed at the vacated chair, waiting until Auron reluctantly returned to it.  
  
"What you seek cannot be attained by fighting or by magic, and there's nothing arcane about it. But it will require you to open that which you keep locked away. It will take a type of courage that you have not owned for a long time." Tanar leaned forward, his dark eyes penetrating through Auron's facade to what lay beneath -- his next words drawing a flinch from the man seated across from him.   
  
"It's really quite simple... all you have to do is love."  
  
---------------------------------  
  
The first thing Auron noticed was his robe, now clean and hanging from a wooden peg beside the door. Then he saw that the unpretentious lodge had been swept free of dust and cobwebs -- the distinct odor of citrus that had been used as a cleanser a pleasant change from the formerly musty smell. An upholstered armchair had been relocated from somewhere and placed just in front of the stone fireplace.  
  
Isabo was arranged in the lone seat like a storefront mannequin -- freshly scrubbed and dressed in the natural homespun of a shin-length linen dress, her hair woven into a single thick braid and draped over one shoulder. The sight of her changed Auron's opinion from the one he had formed that morning. The sad pretense of normalcy in her appearance cut savagely deep -- the blade of hurt that twisted within enough to bring a soft groan from him.  
  
Auron stood quietly with his forehead cradled in his hand until he felt in control of himself again. Then he opened his eyes and watched the broken shadows that had begun to creep across the floor. The sun had nearly set. Looking up to survey the vaulted ceiling, he found several light fixtures suspended from its drooping beams.  
  
His initial attempt at activating the lights yielded no results -- the room remaining shrouded in gloom. Obviously, this needed a firmer effort. Auron extended his arm and raised his palm, his mind honing his thought to a sharper edge. The cabin suddenly came to life in a fierce display of reddish fireworks. Not only did the lights come on in a glaring burst -- water began gushing from every faucet, and several other household devices both apparent and unseen hummed noisily into operation.  
  
"Slight overkill," Auron mumbled, dropping his arm.  
  
He went outside first -- following the sounds around back to a ramshackle shed adjacent to the east side of the building. He lifted the wrought iron flush latch by its large knob and pulled, the door abruptly separating from its hinges and yanking his arm straight with the unexpected lurch of weight. Auron irritably released his grasp on the handle allowing the door to fall to the ground, and then tramped across it to enter the lean-to while waving a hand in front of his face to dismiss the cloud of dust he was inhaling.  
  
A single droplight spilled illumination over a waist-high counter, the wall above it covered with pegs where a group of various hand tools hung. One corner was filled with an unkempt pile of kindling and split firewood. The bothersome sound was coming from something that resembled a crude table-saw, its circular blade hurriedly buzzing at one end of the workbench. Auron did a better job of focusing this time, managing to turn the saw off without simultaneously turning off the light. He grunted and turned, the light winking out as he left to complete his tasks.   
  
The front room and kitchen under control, Auron finished his tour of duty through the house with the bathroom. Compared to the rusticity elsewhere, this space was sumptuous. He had expected something the size of a closet, surprised by the sight of a huge walk-in shower wrapped in terra-cotta tile. A thick burl of burnished wood made up the basin surround, the sink itself a hand thrown raku bowl -- the carbonized colors of the raw firing quite beautiful against the warm tones of the wood. The architect of this dwelling had clearly taken their hygienic pursuits seriously, and Auron thought perhaps it was time for him to do the same.  
  
A steaming hot shower and shave later, Auron almost felt like a new man. Melia and Dwen had been thoughtful enough to provide a towel and he buffed himself dry before heading for the front room -- his soiled clothes left behind to be washed later, his boots dangling from one hand, and his glasses perched on top of his head. He placed his boots by the front door and untied the bundle of clothes and food he had left there earlier. The broadcloth pants felt a little scratchy in their newness, but they fit well enough. Courtesy of Tanar, his jug was now full of fine sake, and he detached it from his overbelt before re-threading the top strap and hooking the belt on a vacant peg along with the shirts. Those little chores finished, he propped his sword against the wall and reached for his robe. Faint traces of Isabo's scent lingered in the garment, and Auron unconsciously pressed his face into the fabric before letting the robe settle to his back.  
  
Auron conveyed the food and sake to the kitchen and dropped them on the counter top, then proceeded to pull open all the drawers and cupboards -- taking stock of the cooking space. There was not a single dish or utensil to be found, and Auron decided the former occupant had either been a confirmed bachelor, or competently dead.   
  
Considerably experienced at making do, Auron retrieved his dirk and went about preparing a section of cheese and a chunk of bread, using the cheesecloth to transport the humble meal to the motionless figure seated by the fireplace.  
  
He was uncertain for a moment if Isabo was going to swallow the morsel of bread he had gently forced between her lips. He was readying his finger to scoop it back out when her throat worked spontaneously -- the food going down. Auron continued to hand-feed her until she finally indicated she'd had enough by clamping her lips closed in a tight line. The refusal revealed a hint of self-awareness and Auron dropped the bread in his hand to reach for her shoulders.  
  
"Isabo? Can you hear me?"  
  
Nothing.   
  
Auron closed his eyes.  
  
What he wouldn't give for her voice in conversation, or to hear the engaging sound of her laughter again. Auron sank dejectedly to the floor and reached for the old comfort -- propping the sake jug on his forearm to take a deep draught before lowering it to his knee and pressing the back of his hand against his lips. His mind replayed the afternoon's conversation with Tanar -- what he would give was at the crux of the matter. He must decide.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Full dark had long since fallen, the deep night outside nearing its hushed apex. Within the cabin, loose floorboards creaked beneath the tread of Auron's bare feet, his introspective pacing taking him from one side of the room to the other -- that systematic movement a disparity to the fingers that roamed at random through his hair.   
  
It was almost dawn before his despondent reflection finally led him to a conclusion -- that this was unacceptable.  
  
He had lost his youth, his faith, his life, and most of his soul. And he was damned tired of losing things -- even if their demise had been of his own doing -- the result of his own short sightedness. None of that mattered now. It all stopped here. He would reclaim Isabo. He didn't care how long it took or what it cost him -- he had all the time in the universe and nothing left to lose. But it would mean attempting what he was no longer sure he was capable of. It would require him to be vulnerable in a way he had not been willing to allow since he had been bereft of all those precious possessions.  
  
An emotion swelled in him then that he was unfamiliar with, and he halted his repetitive march to press his hand against the six-pack of his stomach in puzzlement. Then it suddenly came to him what it was that gnawed at his insides and agitated his heartbeat -- Tanar had been right.  
  
He was afraid.   
  
Nevertheless, if he truly wanted this, he would have to try.  
  
Maybe one last time -- he could try. 


	12. The Penitent Pass

Eterna: Chapter 12 -- The Penitent Pass  
-----------------------------------  
  
Blackness.  
  
A dark so absolute your hand would not be visible if held up to your nose. She would have liked to try though, just the same. She didn't have a hand or a nose -- only her thoughts, and those were terrifying.  
  
She had tried to think about anything other than were she might be, and what was waiting for her in the dark. Song lyrics had worked well for awhile, but had ended up twisting around until they were something else. Something that capered and shrieked -- something that said she was going mad.  
  
That hadn't been the worst -- the worst was when she thought that maybe there was nothing waiting for her. Nothing. This was it. Alone. In the dark. For all time. That's when she had screamed. And screamed. And screamed. She had gone away after that. Now she was back, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but was convinced to do either would result in unchecked hysteria. Hysteria that would just go on and on -- like the dark.  
  
Then a disembodied voice came to her out of that total lack of light, and she didn't even try to hold back the high-pitched cry of terror.  
  
"You can't stay here."  
  
She was shocked to discover she still had the ability to speak. More shocking was that she sounded sane -- even bothering to be polite. It was absurd.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You have to break through."  
  
Even in command the voice was gentle, and so sad.  
  
"No thanks. I tried once already. All it did was put me here, and it hurt. A lot. Besides, I'm tired and... I'm..."  
  
"I know you're tired and frightened. I'm sorry. It's... it's mostly my fault, what's happened to you. I don't fully understand, they never told me. When it started, I was only trying to do what I promised... to protect us. They used me. I'm so sorry..."  
  
"Please. Please don't. If you start then I'll start and I hate it when I cry. It makes my face swell up like a blitzball."  
  
"You're funny."  
  
"That pretty much sums me up."  
  
"You have to find a way to be brave as well, like him."  
  
"Like who?"  
  
"Like Auron."  
  
Oh, God. Hearing that name hurt. Stop it. Just keep talking.  
  
"Auron? You know Auron?"  
  
"Uh huh, he's a good friend of mine."  
  
"He's very special."  
  
"I know. That's why I'm here. That's why you have to go there. He needs you."  
  
"Go where? Where is he? What's wrong?"  
  
"He's in the Farplane. Where you're supposed to be. He told some people once that they could die and be free of pain, but he hasn't been released from his. He spent too long as an Unsent so he could do what he had to do and now he's trapped in his pain. He wanted to give up too, but he's changed his mind. He wants to try and be happy and he thinks maybe you can help him do that."  
  
What the voice had just said made no sense, and perfect sense. The implications brought fresh agony. First hope.  
  
"Can I?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"And what about you?"  
  
"Oh, I'll be okay. The Fayth look after me. They're really cool that way. Listen, I have to go... I've been here too long already."  
  
"Wait! What am I supposed to do?"  
  
"Don't worry, you'll know what to do when he calls. Be prepared though, like you said, it's going to hurt, and... and you'll be messed up when you get there. But he'll take care of you. He's the strongest and..."  
  
"You love him as much as I do, don't you?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'll tell him that when I see him."  
  
"Thanks, but... I don't think you'll be able to."  
  
"Watch me."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
It took him most of the day to prepare. To do what he could, and hope it was enough.  
  
He began with kata and ended with meditation. If he was going to do this, he must to do it properly -- with no hesitation or regrets. Anything less would mean failure. Anything less would cheapen it.  
  
It was nearing dusk outside when Auron finally rose from his cross-legged position to his knees. Then he raised his arms out from his sides -- looking upward to an unseen altar, where he placed an offering unlike any he had ever made.  
  
"I surrender my heart. Do with it as you will."  
  
His face lowered and he took a deep breath. He had meant it. Every word. A steady hand reached inside his robe and unhooked the clasp of a small pocket sewn into the lining -- its contents pushed from his thoughts since he had left Zanarkand.  
  
Auron opened Isabo's hand and pressed her father's chess piece against her palm then closed her fingers over it, securing her hand around the talisman with his. Then he leaned over until his lips were next to her ear.  
  
"Queen's pawn to queen's pawn four. Knight to bishop six," Auron breathed the words into Isabo's mind -- speaking the moves as though they were poetry, written in a language of feeling that only they could comprehend. He continued to recite -- every move of every game they had ever played. It was where they had started from and where they had ended. It was all the magic he had.  
  
The mental strain to remember well over a thousand moves in sequence threatened to overwhelm him, but he kept his focus and went on -- his voice a hoarse whisper and his body soaked in sweat when he had finished.  
  
His hand remained clasped to hers as he lowered himself to the floor in front of the chair and rested his head on the seat's arm.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
She couldn't breathe. The air was white-hot fire burning her lungs to ash. Then the real pain started. It felt as though every molecule in her body was being slowly expanded and before it was over, it would burst her skin like an over-ripe grape. A pure, sharp panic took her in its talons then, pulling her back -- his voice beginning to fade.  
  
Auron, I can't. I'm so scared. It hurts too much.  
  
The thoughts were hers and they made her want to vomit. They made her furious. Coward. Weak, sniveling coward.  
  
Then a strength she didn't know she had suddenly bubbled to the surface -- spreading through her in a flash-fire and she fought. Fought for her. Fought for him. She could hear him clearly now. Oh God how she wanted to see him -- to see the face that went with that voice.  
  
Don't stop. Don't stop. Keep going. Do it, you worthless bitch! Do it!  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo gasped and her back arched in convulsion, limbs thrumming against the chair. The sudden violence tore her hand from Auron's -- the chess piece sailing back over her shoulder.  
  
Auron shot upright and gripped the arms of the chair, his hands white-knuckled. "Can you speak? Do you know who I am?"  
  
Isabo searched his face, looking for the answer. Then her mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land before she finally managed to make her throat work and gut out the words. "Tough guy?"  
  
His eyes closing, Auron lowered his head to her chest. "Not at the moment."  
  
"Okay..." Isabo said, staring off into space and instinctively raising her hand to his hair -- her fingers threading through its sweat damp layers of white and black. "He loves you... he loves you..."  
  
While he didn't disagree, she was understandably disoriented, and Auron thought it wrong to let her continue, but it felt so good -- her hand stroking his head and moving down his back. So good. Just a little while longer, surely there was no shame in that. His breathing slowed and his posture relaxed, allowing Isabo to give him what he had needed for so long.  
  
Auron fell asleep there under her caress, as the light faded and the shadows drew around them in a deep purple cloak. She was unafraid in that darkness.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
It immediately became apparent that Isabo's condition went beyond mere disorientation. Physically, she was as shaky as a newborn foal -- unable to take more than a few steps before needing assistance. Mentally she was the same, her mind having come back in a state of infancy. When she was hungry or tired she simply said so without pretense -- when she wanted something she asked for it with all the guileless innocence of a child. He had tried to explain where and what they were and Isabo seemed to get the gist, although her lack of emotional response left him wondering if she truly understood.  
  
Auron had not budged from her side, and found himself afflicted with a healthy case of cabin-fever that mid-summer day almost a week later.  
  
"We're going out," Auron said decisively, lifting Isabo from the chair and into his arms.  
  
"Out," Isabo mimicked, her hands wrapping around Auron's neck as she drew her eyebrows together in an exaggerated scowl.  
  
"I don't look that nasty," Auron said, a chuckle in his voice.  
  
A warm breeze was shifting the grass in virid melody, the treetops playing second harmony in soft rustlings of branch and leaf. Auron tilted his face up to catch the light, thinking all he would have to do is close his eyes -- and the sounds would be there. The bright laughter of two boys splashing through a wading pool, his mother calling them in from the back porch. Memories sang here. And for the first time -- their voices were sweet.  
  
"Oh..." Isabo moaned, her hands tightening around Auron's neck when they reached the edge of the crest and she saw the Farplane spread out below them.  
  
"Is it real?" She asked, softly as the trees, a tear sliding down her cheek.  
  
"Yes," Auron said quietly, "this is our world."  
  
"I want..." Isabo said then, unclasping one hand from behind Auron's neck and reaching out in the direction of the flower fields.  
  
"Granted," Auron answered, heading down the hill. "I believe I owe you a delivery of flowers."  
  
He didn't enter the fields, choosing instead to carry her along their perimeter. As soon as they were close enough, Isabo emitted an odd cooing sound and reached toward the blossoms with both hands -- breaking off one after another until her arms were overflowing.  
  
"That's enough," Auron teased, "greed does not become you."  
  
Isabo smiled wanly and buried her face in the flowers with a deep inhale, then raised her head and promptly sneezed across the top of the bouquet -- sending a shower of humid petals against Auron's neck and chest.  
  
"Pretty," Isabo commented, her eyes following the colorful cascade pasted to the front of Auron's body.  
  
"Lovely," Auron responded in a less than good-natured tone.  
  
The gruff sarcasm was rewarded with a peal of laughter -- the first he had heard from her. Auron thought the ignominy well worth it -- the mirthful sound gladdening him into a smile as he turned east and back to the cabin.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
They were both breathing hard, but it wasn't the hike that had Melia and Braska fighting for air. The view had inspired them to indulge in more rewarding physical pursuits as they waited for Auron's return. They reluctantly took on more discreet positions when the details of the approaching figure and his cargo went from blurry to sharp.  
  
"Auron looks much better, don't you think?"  
  
"Yes, but it's not his exterior that concerns me."  
  
"I know that," Melia said, punching her husband's stomach, "I'm just saying..."  
  
Braska reacted to the blow as though he had been hit with a sledgehammer, laughing when Melia gave him that look that said he would be sleeping in the front room that night if he didn't knock it off. Sobering when Auron was close enough to make eye contact, Braska's voice was serious. "I came to tell you that I sent Grahl north. He returned last night. The Ronso have set up a watch at the cave entrance, we will know if..." Then Braska stopped when he saw Isabo turn her head to look at him, her face expressing mild fear at the appearance of strangers.  
  
Auron opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, uncertain about where to start. He finally decided to just cut through -- there was no point in stating the obvious. "She is... not entirely herself."  
  
Braska eased the awkward moment by moving close and reaching over the flowers to lay his hand alongside Isabo's face. "How do you do, I'm Braska, and you are?"  
  
"Dead," Isabo explained.  
  
"Then you'll fit right in," Braska said with a reassuring smile, gently patting her cheek.  
  
Auron's eyes met Braska's, wordlessly thanking him on Isabo's behalf. He knew her well enough to know she would not welcome pity.  
  
Melia stepped forward then, her arm encircling Braska's waist.  
  
Isabo reacted with excitement when she recognized someone of her own gender, Auron lowering her to the ground when she began to squirm in his arms. "Who are you?" She asked in a wide-eyed frankness, studying Melia's face intently.  
  
"Melia."  
  
"Here," Isabo said, holding out her armload of flowers.  
  
Melia quickly accepted the offered gifts before they could fall to the ground. "Thank you, they're very pretty."  
  
Isabo tilted her head. "Like your eyes."  
  
Those swirls of green filled with sudden tears, and Auron felt a newfound fondness for the woman he had always seen as barely more than a gadfly. She may be irritating at times, but her heart was true, and always had been. He thought himself negligent in not acknowledging that until now.  
  
"Has she been able to..."  
  
"Not yet. But I do not wish to burden you any further. I will do it."  
  
She knew Auron was too honorable a man to mean anything untoward by that, but she also knew it would be difficult for him. It was a simple thing for her. Hopefully, his common sense would allow him to see that.  
  
"It's not a burden. I want to. It makes me feel good to help."  
  
Melia smiled her understanding of the silent nod. Then she transferred the flowers to one arm and held out her hand, Isabo taking it without hesitation. "Come, Kejan uv Pmuccusc, it's time for a shower."  
  
Braska watched their slow progress in silence, and then turned to study Auron. He thought about how miraculous the human spirit was. Against all odds, Isabo was here in mind as well as body. And Auron, despite the depth of his wounds and years spent dishing out violence could not change who he was at his most basic -- an altruistic and benevolent man.  
  
"I don't know how it happened, nonetheless, it's wonderful."  
  
Auron considered sharing the experience, but it defied explanation on several levels. He also thought it something that should stay between Isabo and he. It was theirs, and theirs alone.  
  
"I'm not entirely sure myself, but yes, it is... satisfying."  
  
Auron didn't need to add the rest, Braska picking up on it at once. "Perhaps with time. Time and patience."  
  
"I apparently have a sufficient supply." Auron's gaze was perfectly level, but his mouth betrayed him with a judicious smile.   
  
His answer held all the drollery he was known for, but Braska heard the meaning beneath Auron's words. He heard Auron saying he could freely give her both. Clearly, there had been a change -- one that held the promise of redemption. Braska didn't bother trying to put how that made him feel into words, his happiness expressed by drawing Auron into an embrace.   
  
Auron accepted it, and returned the loyal affection of his friend with all the forthrightness he could muster. Then Braska separated them by bracing his hands against the front of Auron's shoulders and stepping back. "What can I do to help?"  
  
"Unclear. I'm making this up as I go, but I'll keep you informed."  
  
Braska smiled, shaking a finger. "You'd better."  
  
"Yes, Lord Braska," Auron said solemnly, crossing an arm in front of him and bending deeply at the waist -- chuckling when he felt a cuff against the back of his head.  
  
"You'll pay for that by offering me a guided tour of this... interesting estate."  
  
New amusement shook Auron's shoulders as he straightened and extended his arm toward the cabin, continuing to tease. "Right this way, My Liege."  
  
"Evrae's nether regions," Braska cursed at him, stomping off toward the house -- his hand flinging his hair back over one shoulder.  
  
Auron's chuckle expanded to a laugh as he followed after, enjoying Braska's discomfort immensely. "Have I ever imparted how eloquent you are when you're angry?" 


	13. A Change of Season

Eterna: Chapter 13 -- A Change of Season  
-----------------------------------  
  
The hot days of high summer came and went, and they all saw Isabo the same -- fluctuating between cheerful and withdrawn, frequently confused, and lingering in her childhood.  
  
Auron once again took on the role of guardian with a level of patient attentiveness he had heretofore thought himself incapable of -- rendering him both pleased and appalled. He thought if he weren't careful, he would soon find himself wrapped around her finger in a manner tight as the braid on his sword haft.  
  
It gave him a taste of what Braska must have experienced, looking after a daughter on his own. He recalled how he had never missed an opportunity to tease Braska, about how easily Yuna could control him when she had wanted to. Auron thought perhaps he owed his friend an apology for that incessant needling. When Braska and Melia had come by the next day to deliver some basic kitchen supplies, Auron had taken him aside to do just that -- and Braska had laughed so hard his knees had given way, collapsing to the grass in an elegant heap. Auron was irritated by the display, but considered it his just desserts -- bearing the humiliation in a smirking silence.   
  
-----------------------------------  
  
When late summer had turned the long grass golden and chased the wildflowers into hiding, Grahl decided to pay a visit -- bringing his favorite staple with him in an effort to keep them fed. After the initial shock, Isabo decided she adored the catman. Grahl returned that quick affection in kind, even allowing her a piggyback while he and Auron patrolled the grounds around the cabin.  
  
They had decided to investigate the northeast side of the property and the copse of maples that made up its border. They had not gone far, when Grahl sensed something back in the trees that set him off, and he loosed a rumbling growl.   
  
Auron's immediate thought was that it would frighten her, but Isabo proved him wrong by doing her best to wrap her arms around Grahl from her place on his back -- sighing like a love-struck cub over the aggressive outburst. Auron chuckled, something about strange bedfellows coming to mind. "You two are quite the pair."  
  
Grahl responded with what he considered a smile and reached over his shoulder to pat Isabo on the head. "Grahl likes Auron's little warrior."  
  
Auron found it somewhat disconcerting, the way Grahl had just defined their relationship -- as though Isabo belonged to him, and no one else. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that -- simultaneously warm and cold at the idea. If asked to define the feeling in a word, he would have called it nervous.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The first good rain came a few days later, and the roof had leaked in a great, weeping flood.   
  
Deciding that sleeping in a puddle was unacceptable, Auron, with the help of Grahl's strong back, had spent the next four days making repairs to the roof system. When the last new truss had been dovetailed into place, and a fresh bed of thatch applied to the outside, Auron was satisfied with the results. In fact, he had discovered that he liked the combination of logic and labor. It was gratifying to use his mind and body to create something, rather than destroy it. He had known what Jecht had meant by therapy on an intellectual level -- now he understood it in his heart.  
  
One of Melia's bi-weekly calls came the next day, and Auron asked if she wouldn't mind returning the following day as well, to keep Isabo occupied. That would leave him free to make a day trip for needed materials, to make additional repairs and improvements to the rundown building.  
  
"I'd be delighted," Melia said, and then turned to Isabo. "It'll be just us girls for the whole day."  
  
Isabo's broad smile said that suited her just fine.  
  
Auron arched an eyebrow. "So it is settled."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
It took Auron and Grahl two complete trips from the village to the cabin and back, to deliver all the lumber, nails and other sundries Auron needed. Grahl had already accepted Auron's thanks and said his goodbyes, as the sun had sunk low enough in the sky to start the clouds converting from white to pink.  
  
The last of the long boards and a ladder balanced on one shoulder, Auron walked around to the shed and shrugged them forward, propping their length against its side. After a forearm had taken the sweat from his brow, he held his hands up to examine the new split-finger gloves he was wearing, flexing his fingers. The leather was still stiff. He reasoned it would take several more days before they felt broken in, but they had proved adequate for the day's tasks, while leaving his hands sufficiently nimble.  
  
The sound of female giggling met his ears, when Auron pushed through the front door -- Melia and Isabo rolling around in uncontrolled fits. Then they both sat up, sobering, when they heard and saw the boots -- looking larger than they should from their perspective on the floor.  
  
Auron scowled and crossed his arms. "Someone's been in the jug."  
  
"We were bored," Melia said with an airy shrug.  
  
"She made me!" Isabo accused, shaking her head and pointing at Melia.  
  
"I did nothing of the kind," Melia defended, covering her mouth to stifle a twitter.  
  
"This is not what I meant by occupied," Auron growled.  
  
Melia stood up and sauntered past Auron to the door. "Pardon me, next time I'll be sure to bring my paper-dolls. She may be childlike, but there is a woman underneath. Coddling does nothing to further her progress." And with that she left, the door closing less than gently in her wake.  
  
"Hmph."  
  
Isabo rose loosely to her feet and stared at the floor, her arms hanging like dead snakes at her sides. "Are you mad at me?"  
  
Auron sighed. "No."  
  
There was some truth, he thought, in what Melia had said. He had been behaving in an over-protective manner. The primary reason being, that he couldn't allow himself to see the woman beneath the child. He loved the child, but had become convinced he was in-love with the woman, or at least the memory of her. Those yearnings were not appropriate. He must keep those feelings at bay as long as she remained like this. If he was unable to do that, then she could not stay here with him -- and he wanted her here.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron threw himself into the projects around the cabin with all the enthusiasm of a man keeping himself occupied.  
  
Restoration came first. Every loose floorboard was nailed silent, broken windows re-glazed, and all the rusty hinges oiled and repaired. The next two days were spent gathering moss to chink the gaps in the log walls and replacing missing fieldstones in the fireplace.  
  
On the fourth day, Auron started improvements. A freestanding folding screen was built and situated in the northeast corner of the living area with a sleeping mat behind. Isabo was delighted with her little nest and promptly tested its efficiency by taking a nap.  
  
The fifth day, found Isabo improved. Greeting Auron with less juvenile language than before, and stringing together more complex sentences -- her demeanor indicating she had made the leap into her teens.  
  
This encouraged Melia upon her arrival that morning. "Would you like to try figuring out the shower?"  
  
"Yes!" Isabo said with enthusiasm, "I want to learn how to do it myself."  
  
Auron had left them to it, standing at the front window finishing his morning tea, and then turned when Melia spoke from behind him.  
  
"I think she can manage on her own now," Melia said hopefully.  
  
"Your assistance has been greatly appreciated," Auron said, but offered no comments of his own in regards to Isabo's condition.  
  
"Hu bnupmas. I've enjoyed the company, the exercise, and the view from up here is always worth the trip," Melia replied good naturedly, her arm raised in a wave as she left.  
  
Auron set his empty mug on the windowsill and listened expectantly as he watched Melia fade from view -- the hiss of water against the stall tiles telling him Isabo had indeed, managed to think clearly enough to bathe herself.  
  
"I need Lady Blitz Moisturizing Bodywash," Isabo stated smugly, obviously pleased with herself at the mature request.  
  
He turned from the window to see her standing nude in the bathroom doorway. "Unavailable. Use the bar of soap," Auron explained as succinctly as possible, restricting his gaze to her face.  
  
Isabo answered with a subtle pout, then turned languidly and retreated back into the lavatory -- Auron unable to stop his eyes from roving as she stepped from sight.  
  
Auron turned back to the window and slowly pulled off his glasses. Then his opposing hand came up and pressed into the flesh on either side of his nose and out across his eyelids -- fingers spreading as they followed the contours of his face down to his chin.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Already at work before the sun had risen the next day -- the last improvement was the toughest for the unseasoned carpenter. The sun was well up before Auron had the logistics worked out in his head, his hand moving back and forth over his chin in-between gulps of black tea. Dimensions, support beams and the stair-run all had to be calculated before he could make a single cut.  
  
Isabo asked if she could help, and Auron, wanting to keep her safely from underfoot, had obliged her -- running her back and forth for tools from the shed. Then he had dubbed her 'Keeper of the Nails,' and she had stood ramrod straight, handing them to him with all the dignity of her appointed office.   
  
They were both worn out by the set of the sun, and Auron hadn't even said goodnight. He had fallen soundly asleep sitting upright in the chair -- his chin tipped forward onto his bared chest and his glasses perched on the end of his nose, arms dangling over the chairsides, his boots flat to the floor. Isabo stood over him for a long time before she retired to her sleeping mat -- her eyes roaming over the flecks of sawdust standing out against his hair. Seeing him there like that stirred something in her she could not name, but she acted on it anyway, when she took his robe from the peg beside the door and covered him with it -- carefully tucking it around his shoulders.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron spent the following night breaking-in the new loft that stood solid as an oak above the kitchen and overlooked the living space. He lay there in a weary contentment -- hands laced behind his head, one ear tracking Isabo's steady respiration from below, and studying the imperfections in the ceiling. Then an idea came to him -- an idea that actually elicited a twinge of anticipation for the morrow.  
  
"Astonishing," Auron muttered.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
He had no intention of wasting the trip by simply leaving, when he heard no answer to his knock on the door, so Braska found the temerity to move to the front window and peek in -- his hands shielding his face from the glare.  
  
Isabo was curled up asleep in the armchair. Auron had told him that she slept a great deal, and he had replied he found nothing wrong with that -- sleep was one of nature's greatest healers. Then Braska's head came away from the glass when he heard the shed door being swung open out back.  
  
Rounding the corner, Braska looked through the open door of the shed and saw Auron bent over the workbench -- his attention riveted to the scrap of age-yellowed hemp he was laboring over with a tapered chunk of charcoal.  
  
It only took Braska the remaining steps to the doorway to read the man lost in task. He had spent his entire life, and death for that matter, honing that skill, and it had always served him well. Auron was tired, but more so in body than spirit. That coupled with a visible weight gain since his last visit told him Auron was, indeed, on the mend. Whether Auron realized it or not, by reaching out to Isabo, he was healing himself in the process.  
  
"Hello? Is the master of the house in?" Braska asked, rapping his knuckles on the shed door.  
  
"Mm."  
  
Braska knew the response well. He had been hearing it since they were boys. It was the 'hold your tongue I'm thinking' mumble. He had respected that warning, even then, despite being ten years Auron's senior and nearly twice his height at the time. His father had once joked that he believed Auron had been born intimidating people, starting with his own mother.   
  
As if reverting to those long ago days, Braska approached one end of the workbench and leaned over to prop his elbows against it, his chin cradled in his hands -- looking decidedly boyish as he silently observed what Auron was so absorbed in.  
  
An architectural element was being designed, carefully coming to life below the steady fingers moving confidently over the rough paper. Braska was rather astonished by what he saw there, thinking the design reflected the man. It was unpretentious, with an economy of form that held a graceful strength -- and a fierce beauty.  
  
Braska couldn't stand it any more. He had to ask. "A new window, is it not?"  
  
Not looking up from his precise sketching, Auron's answer was as minimalist as his work. "Skylight."   
  
Emboldened by a verbal response, Braska smiled expansively. "If you had chosen to, I believe you would have made an excellent architect."  
  
Auron grunted. "An old dog can, I suppose."  
  
Braska straightened, bristling. "Will you stop with the 'old' business? If you're old, then I am as well, so I'll thank you to refrain from any further references to that in my presence."  
  
"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so sensitive on the subject," Auron smirked, finally looking up.  
  
Braska braced his hands on the edge of the workbench and glared. "Well now you know."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Fall had come to the Farplane, and the grass was thick with hoar frost that morning. Auron stacked a final piece of firewood across his outstretched arm and headed back to the cabin -- churning a bold path through the turned leaves blown into small drifts around the workshed. Autumn had always been his favorite time of year. He liked the quiet of it -- the sense of winding down. The light still held summer softness, but the air had turned crisp and the rich colors of the landscape were pleasing to him.  
  
Things had settled into an uncomplicated routine these past weeks. He at work on the cabin, and Isabo content to hover nearby in watchful silence. He worried at times that she would never go beyond where she was now, when he had time to think lying in the loft, gazing up through the skylight and into the deep night. He had done his best to engage her in simple conversation and his activities, while being mindful not to push, but she resisted that connection -- often sullen and indifferent. Part of him thought that perhaps this was his punishment -- for all the years spent treating others in the same fashion.  
  
Then his thoughts turned to the day ahead, one he had been looking forward to. Jecht's family had been staying at the Al-Bhed settlement since Isabo's awakening. Jecht and Dwen had returned to the village with the harvest moons. Tidus had decided to stay behind, as he was busy putting together a Blitzball team -- excited to discover the Al-Bhed had constructed a small stadium there. Dwen had come by a couple of days ago to invite them on a day sail -- citing that she thought it would be good for them both, but especially for Isabo. Auron had accepted for several reasons. He wanted to spend some time with his friends, he agreed that the outing would be good for Isabo, and he was actually curious to see the Farplane from the water. He had never been particularly fond of sea travel, but decided like some other aspects of his former ways, perhaps it was time he gave it another shot.  
  
His head cleared of its clutter for the moment, Auron looked up when he got to the edge of the new deck he had just finished, and tromped up the short flight of stairs. Auron thumbed the latch and pushed the door open, pausing to dislodge the clumps of leafy soil stuck to the soles of his boots -- thumping his heels against the deck planks and then a final backwards scrape of each foot before crossing the threshold.  
  
Isabo was waiting for him in the middle of the living space, her hair wet and her cheeks still flushed from the hot steam of the shower.  
  
"Look, all cleaned up and ready to go," Isabo said proudly, holding her arms out and turning in a circle.  
  
"Well done," Auron lied.  
  
"The pants don't fit very well though."  
  
"Perhaps if you..."  
  
"They're on backwards aren't they?" Isabo said wistfully, looking down at herself.  
  
Auron's silence answered in the affirmative.  
  
With no warning, Isabo began to cry -- her arms coming up to cross over her chest and her chin dropping to rest in the apex formed by her wrists.  
  
She had been so stoic until now, enduring every indignity of her condition without complaint, and Auron was surprised that something as trivial as this would cause her to break down. But everyone had their limits, and evidently hers had finally been breached.  
  
It hurt him to his core to hear her crestfallen sorrow. Just why, he was uncertain. This was nothing. He had heard it all. From the whimperings of a newly orphaned child roaming the streets of Bevelle, to the gut-wrenching wails of a husband cradling his wife's broken body in the rubble of Kilika. Why then, was his heart in his throat over this? Perhaps it was the knowing. He had known the child, he now knew the young woman, and hoped he might again know the grown woman. The one who had faced her own impending death with as much quiet courage as any he had ever witnessed. Or perhaps it was, in the final analysis, that he simply loved her.   
  
Leaning over, Auron dropped his armload of firewood -- four long strides bringing him to Isabo's side. She didn't resist when his arms pulled her against him, her hands curling into fists and pressing into her eye sockets.  
  
"Do not weep, it is of no matter."  
  
Isabo's head turned rapidly from side to side. "But it is..." she paused to wipe furiously at her eyes. "We're going to see all your friends today. What if... what if I say or do something..."  
  
"Isabo," Auron said quietly.  
  
It was the first time she had ever heard him speak her name, and the sound of it rumbling through his chest in that mellow baritone was nothing short of riveting. For a brief moment the fog lifted -- a flash of perfect clarity coursing through her mind in a bright flood before it faded back to a dull grayness.  
  
Auron wanted for nothing when she looked up at him -- her face so close he could count the flecks of gold in her eyes. "There is nothing you could ever say or do that would be shameful to me."  
  
The smile she gave him then made him wonder why he had ever chosen to keep such feelings to himself.   
  
"Okay then, you make a fire and I'll go turn my pants around."  
  
Auron chuckled. That sounded so much like the Zanarkand Isabo.  
  
"Fair enough." 


	14. The Goodship Hope

Eterna: Chapter 14 -- The Goodship Hope  
-----------------------------------  
  
The day had warmed considerably by the time they left for the village -- the rapid temperature change indicating summer was not yet ready to release its hold.  
  
Isabo was full of nervous excitement and Auron had to caution her twice not to run down the frost-melted slickness of the hill. He was amused and heartened by her enthusiasm though, finding it a welcome change from her glum attitude of late. Once they had turned their backs to the flower fields and had begun to progress along the emerald hillocks, she had quieted. Her hands were cupping her elbows and her pace had slowed, letting him take the lead. Auron considered how foreign this landscape would be to someone like her -- accustomed to the press of buildings and constant noise of a city. The open expanses and rural quiet of this world had undoubtedly made her feel vulnerable. Then Auron paused, turning, when he heard her come to a complete stop behind him.  
  
"That's gross," Isabo said, pointing down at her sandals. The grass had hitched a ride on her feet and ankles, the wet blades stuck to her like green fur.  
  
Auron chuckled and set out again. "Don't bother with it now, you can wipe it off when we get to the village."  
  
Isabo forgot all about her feet when they passed through the arched stone entrance on the north side of the village. "Cool," she observed, smiling. "Can we go to the mall?"  
  
"This is not like Zanarkand. There are no malls here, and we haven't the time for shopping," Auron explained without embellishment.  
  
Isabo sighed, but voiced no complaint, double-timing it to catch up with Auron's steady advance, as they navigated around a large fountain beneath the ornate turnings of a balustrade overlooking the square.  
  
The streets were fairly crowded, and Isabo was fascinated by the diversity of the people they saw, especially by some of the women -- their style of dress and the way they wore their hair. One woman in particular caught her attention. She was very tall and slender, wearing a flowing dress -- the bodice crisscrossed with bands of embroidered symbols. Her luxuriant auburn hair was braided all over her head, with beads and feathers attached. Isabo realized she was staring when the woman gave her a knowing smile. Then the woman glanced at Auron and her smile changed, her head nodding hello to him as she passed. Isabo turned her head to look behind her at the woman, and then back at Auron -- wondering what the big deal was.  
  
Auron was wearing his usual pants and no shirt, like he always did when he was working around the cabin. Today though, he had worn his robe -- unbelted and open at the front, and he had taken off that leather thing on the shoulder. He did look nice in it. Really nice, come to think of it. Funny, how she had been thinking those kinds of things lately. Like how she wanted to touch him. Especially his hair. Sometimes all she could think about was putting her hand in it. Weird.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Wow," Isabo breathed, when they reached the top of the trail that led to the quay. Then her posture changed slightly when she saw the figures waiting for them on the dock below. At casual glance, you would never know, but Auron knew. He could tell just by the way her shoulders were set.   
  
Without being obvious, Auron slowed until she was slightly in front of him, then he placed his hand on her shoulder as though he needed assistance down the steep path. She reacted immediately to his touch -- her shoulders dropping and her chin lifting a little. It was always amazing to him, how such small things could mean so much.  
  
They were halfway down when Isabo turned on him. "Why are we the only ones wearing so many clothes?" she asked pointedly, her face holding all the outrage of a young female concerned about fitting in.  
  
Auron grunted. "I can't imagine."  
  
The ladies were both dressed in shorts, which was nothing unusual, and Jecht appeared perfectly normal in his customary scant attire. Braska, however, looked decidedly peculiar. His legs, while as graceful as the rest of him, were fish-belly-white. Although his own skintone was darker, he himself suffered from that -- split neatly in twain by the tan line that circled his waist.  
  
Auron brought his hand up from his side to make introductions when they were close enough. "Isabo, this is Dwen, and..."   
  
"Holy Blitzballs! You're... you're Jecht... The Jecht!" Isabo blurted, her mouth hanging open in a wide-eyed awe.  
  
"That's right little lady," Jecht said smoothly, shooting a wink at his wife before stepping close and taking Isabo's hand, raising it to his lips in an obvious show of flirtaceous arrogance.  
  
Auron rolled his eyes. He should be grateful -- it was the most profound reaction he had seen from Isabo, but he felt an irrational urge to wrench her hand away, followed closely by a fist to Jecht's jaw. "Don't tell me you're a fan."  
  
"Well... I mean... it's just..." Isabo fumbled, a faint blush rising in her cheeks as she pulled her hand away.  
  
Jecht pumped a fist then crossed his arms. "Hey, you can't blame her. I'm the most famous hero that ever lived in Zanarkand."  
  
"Peeyew," Isabo snorted, waving a hand in front of her face as though some foul stench had suddenly filled the air.  
  
Then they all turned in Auron's direction, surprised to hear the rare sound of his deep laughter reverberating through the air.  
  
"What's with you?" Jecht snarled, suspecting Auron's amusement was entirely at his expense.  
  
"It is nothing, I merely find it..." Then Auron erupted again, leaning over to rest a hand on one knee, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as the belly-laughs continued.  
  
Isabo looked back at Jecht in confusion, hoping he might be able to explain. Jecht jerked his thumb at Auron. "He's a waste of skin."  
  
Then Jecht grinned and crooked his arm, Isabo taking it and letting him help her up the gangplank. "Let me tell ya about the time I broke through six defenders in the last twenty seconds of the game to score the winning goal."  
  
Auron sighed and clomped up on deck, wondering which would be the first to have him leaning over the rail -- the motion of the boat, or Jecht's endless grandstanding.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Jecht barked orders at them, clearly enjoying the act, as they all made ready to depart. Then he paused dramatically before giving the signal for cast-off. "Braska, you get the bowline, Auron, you take the stern, then we're outta here!"  
  
Auron braced a hand on the gunwale, his legs coming up to one side and over, boots thumping to the dock planks. Then he turned to look up at Braska, still standing on deck, and arched a brow. "Waiting for something?"  
  
Braska just grinned at him and then swung his arm in an arc -- the bowline uncoiling from the dock cleat and floating up into his waiting grasp. Then he opened his hand and let it drop, while giving Auron the cheesiest smile he was capable of.  
  
"I'm surrounded by clowns," Auron muttered. Then he turned around and bent over, just exaggerated enough that Braska would get the idea while he whipped the mooring rope from the cleat and then tossed its slack on deck.  
  
Braska was still laughing when the boat began to drift, Auron hurdling the grab rail in an easy grace. That was Jecht's cue to haul on the jib and it caught -- the boat making headway in a rocking ease through the harbor.  
  
His fiery eyes scanning the water, Jecht stayed at the helm as they moved forward. Braska had already taken up a sunbathing post on the forecastle, propped up on his forearms with his legs stretched out. Dwen and Melia had disappeared into the cabin, saying something about tea. The ladies had invited Isabo to join them, but she had politely refused -- one hand involuntarily gathering the back of Auron's robe.  
  
Auron was planted solidly amidships, trying not to think about the somersaults in his gut -- keeping his eyes on the coastline falling away behind them, rather than at the deck rolling under his boots. Then his head turned when Isabo spoke from his side.  
  
"Shoot, I should have a hat. I'll burn to a crisp."  
  
She was right. He could already see her cheeks pinking up. He liked the healthy flush he saw in her skin, but no doubt another hour would see her resembling a boiled crustacean.  
  
"I shall procure one for you, as I do not care to witness such a charring," Auron smirked, his legs moving in time with the sway of the boat as he strode toward the cabin, his voice carrying an order back over his shoulder. "Don't move."  
  
The women looked up from the galley when they heard Auron at the top of the companionway. His hair fell forward over his shoulder, rippling in a black sheet as he propped a forearm against the hatchframe and bent at the waist to peer in at them.   
  
"Dwen, do you have a head covering of some kind on board? The fair damsel is in need."  
  
"Sure do," Dwen smiled, "hang on a second."  
  
The large brimmed hat was a little too big, but Auron thought she looked quite fetching in it.  
  
Isabo pulled her hair up and tucked it into the hat, in hopes the added bulk would keep it on her head. Then she glanced at Auron, unconsciously wanting his appraisal of her appearance. The look on his face told her she didn't look goofy, and that was good enough for her. If there was more in his deep gaze, she was unaware of it.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The boat had just cleared the protection of the seawall, and a blast of crosswind hit her broadside as she worked through the heavy swells just beyond the harbor. Isabo was staggered by the sudden pitch and thought for sure she was going over the side, before she felt Auron's strong arm encircle her waist and steady her. He wasn't looking at her, his gaze straight ahead, but his arm stayed wrapped around her for a few moments before he let her go. It made her feel very strange, like her skin was burning where he had touched her. I should know what this is, she thought, but she couldn't make her brain give her the answer. This was really starting to get on her nerves. For days now, her mind had been zooming in and out of focus like a cheap camera. Sharp one minute, blurry the next. It made her head hurt. It hurt right now.  
  
Auron had been keeping an eye on her through his peripheral vision, and saw when Isabo pulled the sides of her hat down over her ears. Then he caught her low moan, barely audible over the sounds of sailwind and sea.  
  
He placed two fingers against her upper arm, applying just enough pressure to get her attention. "Isabo, are you ill?"  
  
Isabo let the hat brim go, her head turning abruptly. "What?"  
  
Auron put a hand on his stomach. "Do you feel sick?"  
  
"Not there, here," Isabo said pointing at her head.  
  
The pain Auron saw in her eyes conveyed no humor. She wasn't making a joke. "Come," Auron commanded, gripping her shoulders from behind and guiding her towards the bow.  
  
"Better?" Braska asked a short while later, lowering his hands.  
  
"Yeah. How did you do that?" Isabo said in amazement, her hands coming to her temples as she studied Braska's face.  
  
"It's magic," Braska replied with a laugh, wiggling his fingers at her playfully. "I'll explain how it works sometime, but not today."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Once they were safely past the line of breakers, the captain decided it was time to hoist the mainsail, but it fouled in a sudden leeward gust, and Jecht scrambled aloft -- clinging to the mast as he jerked on the halyard to untangle the sheet. The wind caught the freed canvas and pushed it wide in a booming flutter. At last under full sail, the boat lurched forward with a groan of her lapstrakes as she picked up speed and began to cut through the swells -- jeweled roosters of spray shooting back off the bow.  
  
Jecht pumped an arm in the air and whooped a battle cry. "Look at her will ya? Come on girl! Go!"  
  
Jecht's unfettered exuberance was impossible to resist, and Auron looked back over his shoulder and met Braska's eyes with his, their teeth flashing smiles in a familiar exchange -- one they had not shared since their journey through Spira. But this time, death was not waiting for them at the end. This time, it was hope.  
  
Auron suddenly saw the vessel forging through the waves as the embodiment of that. Yes. She was hope -- effortlessly riding the troughs and crests of the sorrowful sea, and they were all aboard her in safe passage -- with no ferryman in sight.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
When they finally made open water and her sails were full of clean wind, Jecht yelled "Comin' about!" and changed tack, spinning the wheel like a madman on holiday -- Dwen laughing in delight and hanging on to him by the waistband of his shorts. The boat responded like a lover -- the hull heeling over in a swath of foam as she took up new course -- Jecht praising her yare with a grin wide as the horizon.  
  
Seeing him there in all his wild-haired glory, his face filled with a ferocious elation -- Auron didn't think he would ever be happier for his friend than he was just then. Jecht had indeed, come home. Then Jecht promptly ruined Auron's philosophical thoughts, by speaking.  
  
"Hey, Braska, would you mind taking the helm for a little while? Me and Dwen are gonna go below and slap some grub together."  
  
Dwen gasped, her face turning a bright shade of red. "Jecht! That sounds awful!"  
  
"I didn't mean it like that, but it's not a bad idea," Jecht said with a leer.  
  
Dwen buried her face in her hands, as Melia and Braska burst into simultaneous mirth.  
  
"Be happy to," Braska said, still chuckling.  
  
"Just keep her into the wind," Jecht instructed, "we won't be long," he finished with a lecherous wink.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Melia stood content beneath the arch of Braska's arm, her own clinging to his waist as they scudded along -- Braska's hand steady at the helm. The beauty of the ocean never ceased to inspire awe in her as she studied the sun-sparkled currents of green mixed with blue. Then she noticed a pair of long shadows beneath those teal waves, closing rapidly on the stern.  
  
She smiled and stood on tiptoe to speak at Braska's ear. "Here they come."  
  
Braska turned his head to kiss the bridge of her nose, and then called to Auron, his voice raised to make himself heard. "Auron! Go to the bow! You have to see this!"  
  
With a backward glance at Braska over the top of his glasses, Auron complied -- his robe moving around his legs in snapping folds of crimson as he strode to the forecastle, hair whipping around his face and catching on the rims of his glasses. Isabo followed, one hand mashing the hat against the top of her head to keep it from being ripped from her.  
  
When a huge dorsal fin broke the surface just off the port side, Auron's knees bent as his feet moved apart. Then he grabbed Isabo's arm in one hand and pulled her behind him, the other moving over his right shoulder -- reaching for the haft that wasn't there. Braska's face contorted at the sight, realizing what Auron was thinking in that moment.  
  
Then Auron became aware of his reflexive reaction and straightened, pushing his glasses up. He didn't release Isabo's arm though, continuing to hold her at his back.  
  
Isabo looked back at Braska, her face drained white. Auron's response had communicated peril to her nerve endings like an electric shock. "What is it?"  
  
Braska's smile did its best to soothe her. "The Farplane's version of a whale, a very gentle creature and nothing to fear. It is, in fact, quite extraordinary."  
  
Auron's posture said he was reserving judgment, but he released his hold on Isabo -- his eyes tracking back and forth between the massive mammal in the water and her, as she moved away from him and toward the gunnel to get a better look.  
  
Just then a second dorsal emerged, the pair moving in graceful tandem across the waves. Their epidermis was unblemished by barnacle or scar, and appeared translucent -- a borealis of color shifting through their bodies in a radiant ballet of light.  
  
Isabo was completely entranced by the sight of them, her hands sliding along the top of the gunwale, following their progress as far as she could. Then she lost them as they moved in front of the boat. An intense longing tore through her, and she propped her hands on the edge of the upper deck, hoisting herself to the top.  
  
"Isabo! Get down!" Auron ordered, when he saw her wobbling unsteadily on the raised platform.  
  
Isabo didn't even hear him, gliding forward to the grab rail at the forepeak and leaning against it -- lost in the sight of the magnificent leviathans undulating through the depths.  
  
As she watched, the larger whale flexed its broad tail to move to its mate's side and they began to roll -- the colors in their skin intensifying as they dove. Then they breached as one, their sleek bodies entwined as they rose from the sea -- the sun catching their wake and turning it to a glittering spray of diamonds. She waited for the explosion of displaced water that would signal their return to the surface, but it didn't come. They continued to rise -- their flippers moving out from their sides, unfurling into gigantic wings as their tails left the surface and they swam upward into the blue of the sky -- joy radiating off them in soundless waves.  
  
"They're so beautiful! So beautiful!" Isabo cried in ecstasy, her arms rising from her sides -- laughing and crying at the same time.  
  
He had entertained the notion that his memory had made her more than she was, and found that thinking false when Isabo turned to look at him. What Auron saw in her face took his breath away.  
  
Isabo was there, all of her -- the vibrant, shining woman that he had known in Zanarkand and something more, something that made his heart want to leap from his chest. It was the way she was looking at him. Her eyes held what he had seen in so many other gazes -- what his mother had for his father, what Melia had for Braska, what Sahna had for Gabe.   
  
But now that soulful stare was for him.  
  
For him.  
  
"Let's not waste another moment of forever," Isabo said then in a pleading whisper, all her emotions laid bare.  
  
A thought flashed through Auron's mind -- that the others would see him letting go, but he decided he didn't care. He didn't care at all -- bounding to the deck above and bringing her into his arms.  
  
Reaching up, Auron pulled the hat from her head, his eyes never leaving hers as he side-armed it into the air -- its brim caught by the wind as it sailed away across the waves. Then Auron brushed the stray locks away from her face with his hands, his fingers moving to tilt her chin up as he leaned in to take her mouth. Auron's breathing quickened when he felt Isabo's hands grip his waist, and the faint taste of salt on her lips as their jaws moved in that timeless dance -- a swift breeze mingling his hair with hers in a soft tempest around their heads.  
  
The kiss was the most tender thing Auron had ever known, and for a precious few moments, he felt young again -- like a fresh-faced boy with his whole existence stretching endlessly out before him -- in a world full of innocence and quiet magic, where bright miracles waited to be discovered around every bend in the path. 


	15. A Thousand Miles

Eterna: Chapter 15 -- A Thousand Miles   
-----------------------------------  
  
The low rustle of a hand against paper was the only sound in the room -- Braska's face etched in bedside light, his back propped against the padded headboard. He'd read the same paragraph three times now, and the words had yet to sink in. Giving up, he lowered the book to his lap, his eyes traveling the length of his newly tanned legs down to the paler shade of his toes. He allowed himself the vanity of being pleased by the sight of that sun-kissed skin, his thoughts drawn inexorably to the bountiful harvest that had been reaped this sublime autumn day.   
  
Yes, the day had come close to perfection, he thought, smiling. Isabo was fully herself again and the consequent affect on Auron, had been a splendid thing to witness -- the mood of the group turned celebratory at the happy event. Jecht had lowered canvas to let the boat drift, while they ate sandwiches and engaged in enthusiastic conversation. Auron had sat on the edge of the foredeck, his hands resting on Isabo's shoulders as she stood between his spread knees on the deck below, answering questions with as much poise as she could manage, given her foggy memory of recent events. Then she had begun to ask questions of her own, and Auron had visibly tensed. Jecht had quickly come to the rescue by launching into a thoroughly entertaining and light-hearted account of the pilgrimage, having the common sense to tactfully skirt the more gruesome aspects of their journey, while shamelessly embellishing others. Isabo had listened in rapt attention, clearly impressed by the boastful yarn Jecht was weaving -- his arms gesturing wildly as his animated voice rose and fell. At one point, Auron had leaned over to whisper in her ear, no doubt correcting some of Jecht's more outlandish claims. Isabo had leaned back against him and smiled, her hand reaching up to cover Auron's, his fingers flexing in reaction. He had found that subtle expression very touching. Even more heartwarming, was Auron's clear effort to drop some of his reserve -- demonstrating how real this was and what it meant to him. It seemed Auron had at last embarked upon on his journey to find peace.  
  
Braska blinked himself to the present and looked toward the bedroom door when Melia, looking utterly wonderful in her nightgown, entered and lowered herself to the mattress with her back to him. She had been uncharacteristically quiet since they had waved their goodbyes from the quay -- Jecht and Dwen disappearing back below decks, while Auron and Isabo had headed down the beach at Isabo's request for a walk.  
  
"What's wrong, dear one?" Braska asked, laying his book aside and reaching over to explore the valley of his wife's back with his fingers.  
  
"Nothing's wrong... it's just that was the most romantic thing I've ever seen," Melia said with a sniffle, wiping at her eyes and releasing a quivering sigh.  
  
No clarification was needed, but Braska couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her. "Yes, Jecht is quite the smooth talker, isn't he?"  
  
"That's not what I'm referring to, you lmut," Melia countered, turning and thumping her hand against the bed covers. "I'm talking about that kiss."  
  
Braska shrugged and smiled. "Leave it to Auron to do it best."  
  
"Don't sell yourself short, my love," Melia said, then pounced on Braska like a cat after prey -- the two of them laughing and wrestling like children as they rolled across the top of the bed.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Flawless shells and striated agates littered the tideline like a lustrous string of precious gems, polished by the tawny light of approaching dusk. Sandpipers fled before the incoming waves, their compact little bodies carried on black-stick legs that bent the wrong way as they hurried along.  
  
Their walk down the shore had been made in an introspective silence, neither of them feeling the need to speak. Isabo had ranged ahead, uncaring when the incoming water reached high enough to eddy around her ankles, enjoying the rushing tug of the undertow. Looking out to where sea met sky, she found herself once again blinking back the sudden sting of tears -- at the indescribable beauty of this world, at the overwhelming joy of being in the company of the man behind her, and the knowledge that she would never again have to face the terrifying loneliness of illness. She suddenly wanted to turn around and throw herself into his arms, but resisted the impulse. It certainly wouldn't be a very dignified thing to do, and besides, she was feeling a little uncertain about how Auron would react. She didn't want to risk rejection, or upset him by such a flagrant show of affection.  
  
An unusual looking shell caught her eye, and she bent over to retrieve it, shaking the wet sand from its spiraled form. She straightened quickly when she heard a wave breaking behind her, and the sudden movement sent her head into a tailspin of dizziness. So much for dignity, she thought, her legs splayed as she tried to regain her equilibrium -- I'll impress Auron by falling flat on my ass trying to pick up a stupid shell.  
  
"Are you all right?" Came the calm voice, as firm hands gripped her elbows.   
  
How bizarre, hearing him speak the very words he had uttered when they had first met, even the circumstances similar -- him gallantly rushing to her aid. Isabo tried to laugh it off, waving a hand. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."  
  
Two arms swept her cleanly off her feet. "You've had a day."  
  
What a dork I am, she thought. I need to be taking care of him, not the other way around. He looks pretty worn out and he's lost weight. Just what exactly has he gone through, and could any of his suffering be because of me?   
  
Isabo reached up and brushed the stray locks back from Auron's forehead -- her hand traveling down his right cheek, pausing at the scar to gently acknowledge his eyes, both old and new, those fathomless windows to his soul gilded a lighter shade by the setting sun. "You look like you've had quite a few days."  
  
Auron gave no answer, starting toward the dry side of the beach, clouds of sand whiffing back off his boot heels.  
  
Obviously, he didn't want to talk about it, and that was okay. What mattered was that she was going to make sure he took care of himself from now on. She was a lousy cook, but she'd find whatever passed for groceries in the Farplane and do her best. Damn, she was going to miss the Dim Sum Palace around the corner from her apartment in Zanarkand. Then she chased the whining from her thoughts and smiled at him. "You really are a My Knight, aren't you?"  
  
A grunt and then a small smile of his own. "Not in actual fact. A Fallen Monk, if you wish to be accurate."  
  
Creases formed along Isabo's forehead. "I am not going to call you, My Fallen Monk. It sounds ridiculous."  
  
"There's no need for a moniker at all," Auron rumbled not looking at her, his legs pushing against the hill of powdered sediment below the line of flora along the beach.  
  
Isabo's eyes narrowed mischievously, running a fingertip along his jaw. "No pet names? I can't refer to you as Knighty-Poo?"  
  
"That would be unwise," Auron returned flatly, moving steadily over the top of the dune and into a dense tangle of low-growing palms.  
  
Isabo snickered. "Dangerous?"  
  
"In the extreme," Auron said glancing down at her, his eyes glinting with something that was all male.  
  
"Got it," Isabo said with a contented laugh. "Where are we going? This isn't the way back to the cabin is it?"  
  
Auron used his shoulder to pass through the giant leaves crowding his advance. "We're going to rest here."  
  
Isabo swallowed, looking around. "You mean outside?"  
  
"No harm will come to you," Auron said in a mildly patronizing tone.  
  
"Yeah, but..." Isabo stopped herself, thinking she had no right to complain. Sure, she might get some dirt under her fingernails, and there could be bugs the size of Auron's fist just waiting to crawl up her pant-leg, but he was right. Nothing could hurt her now. Not here. Not with him. He could walk them off a cliff for all she cared, as long as his arms were around her. "Anything you say."  
  
When he had found a suitable spot, he lay down, Isabo wondering dreamily how he had managed to do that without letting go of her as he pulled his robe over them. Then Auron put his lips to her forehead, his rich voice and warm breath against her skin a powerful lullaby of comfort. "Sleep."  
  
And so she did, without fear or care -- her slumber sweet in the sheltering strength of his arms. For himself, Auron took the stars winking down at him through the swaying palm fronds, and her head pressed against his heart.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
She was floating. Floating in that blissful place between asleep and awake. Then her eyes pried themselves open when she heard the cry of gulls out for morning scavenge -- the harsh sound convincing her that roughing it was definitely for the birds. Ugh. She felt like she had been partying for a week or something. Her head felt like an overstuffed pillow, and her mouth was the old 'ten miles of bad road.' She wondered what she looked like -- probably far worse than she felt. Then movement beneath her made her aware of her bedding.  
  
Auron grunted and sat up, moving her off of him -- the sound of his spine cracking making her wince as he shifted his arms and stretched. "How are you feeling?"  
  
Isabo yawned and raked her hands through her hair, frowning when her fingers became stuck in the tangled mass. "I've got a few problems, but they can all wait except one."  
  
"And what might that be?" Auron asked nonchalantly, settling his glasses into place on his nose.  
  
Isabo ran her hands down her face. "Please tell me there's coffee in the afterlife."  
  
A chuckle tensed the muscles on and off across Auron's chest. "There is."  
  
"Thank God," Isabo said dramatically, flopping on her back. Then she turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut when Auron reached for his robe and snapped it like a rug, ridding its folds of sand.  
  
"Not sure what deity you're referring to, but if you want coffee, you'll have to thank Tanar, who is an acquaintance of Grahl's and far from divine."  
  
"If he has coffee, I don't really..." Isabo paused as she sat up, her memory giving her vague details about Grahl. "Are we talking gigantic-forked-tongued-lizard-man here?"   
  
Auron shook his head in amusement. "He is purely human. He is, however, brutally honest and exceedingly cantankerous."  
  
Isabo tilted her head and poked her cheek with one finger. "Hmm, never had to deal with that sort of thing before, not sure I can handle it."  
  
Auron rose from the ground and donned his robe in a long-practiced fluidity. "Hmph."  
  
"My humblest apologies, Sir Knight. I beseech thee, take me to the Ogre of Caffeine!" Isabo cried in a mock plea, clutching at the hem of Auron's robe.  
  
"Oh, get up," Auron growled, jerking his robe from her grasp and striding off toward the beach. "I think I liked you better as an adolescent."  
  
She sat looking after him for a few moments before coming to her feet and starting after -- thinking how much she loved every inch of him, inside and out.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo was still trying to get the tangles out of her hair with her fingers as they approached Tanar's abode. She dearly hoped there were such things as hairbrushes here. If not, she'd just as soon chop it all off rather than go through this every morning -- maybe she would either way, just for the change. "Does your hair grow when you're dead?" She asked out loud without meaning to.  
  
Auron was just about to answer, when something came flying through the doorway of Tanar's shop. Auron's reflexes astounded Isabo when his hand shot up and caught the projectile, then he rotated his arm to examine it.  
  
"Let me see that," Isabo said, plucking the small carving from Auron's palm. "This is really impressive work, the detail is amazing."  
  
"Hn. His talent is surpassed only by his foul temperament."  
  
Auron was not surprised to see that Tanar and Grahl somehow knew they were coming -- a steaming pot of coffee and two empty mugs placed conspicuously on the worktable. Isabo didn't seem to notice, busy giving Grahl a hug and a smile, Grahl's tail swishing approval.  
  
"I see the young lady has finally decided to un-scramble her brains and join us," Tanar grumbled, extending an arm toward the table.  
  
This guy doesn't waste any time does he? Isabo thought. Auron hadn't been exaggerating his sour demeanor -- but her instincts told her that like Auron, this was only a facade. However, it was early, and she wasn't in the mood for taking shit off anyone, not even someone offering her coffee. Nevertheless, she'd try and be civil to the nasty old goat.   
  
"I'm sorry, but I don't remember meeting you," Isabo said, extending her hand across the table as she sat.  
  
Tanar seemed ready to rebuff the offer, then grudgingly gave her hand a terse shake. "Never apologize for what you have no control over. It only serves to make you appear disingenuous, and unbearably tedious."  
  
Isabo's voice remained pleasant, but the returning shot was scathing. "What I find sad, are those who feel a need to use their intellect as a weapon to inflict emotional harm on others. What's the fancy word? Oh, right. Pernicious."  
  
Auron hid a smirk behind the coffee pot as he filled a mug and placed it in front of Isabo. He had been curious to see how she would deal with Tanar -- proud that she was going toe-to-toe with him.   
  
"Unflinching, isn't she?" Tanar said, tilting his head forward before looking up at Auron.  
  
"Most of the time," Auron replied with a half-smile, seating himself, then deftly dodged Isabo's elbow as it attempted to meet his ribcage.  
  
Tanar's eyes gleamed black. "Maybe it will take her down a peg or two to know what you..."  
  
Auron's fist came down on the tabletop, sending their cups rattling. He didn't want Isabo burdened with what Tanar might reveal. "Keep your tongue in your head."  
  
Tanar chuckled. "See? There you go, threatening me again." Then he looked at Isabo, stroking his mustache. "You sure you want to hang around with his sort? You might be able to find someone a bit more malleable. Strong-willed women like that in a man, do they not?"  
  
Unruffled, Isabo sipped at her coffee then sat her cup down and smiled sweetly. "Has anyone ever told you, that you're a perfect asshole?"  
  
Auron arched a brow. He had never heard her swear before. She was quite good at it -- delicate delivery with just the right touch of venom.  
  
"Complete yes, but never perfect. That's a first," Tanar replied casually, leaning back in his chair.  
  
Isabo looked at Auron and sighed. "Oh, crud. I like him."  
  
Auron scratched his chin. "How unfortunate. I was hoping you might convince me not to feel the same."  
  
"I don't want your approval or affection," Tanar snapped, "hurry up and finish your damned coffee, I've got work to do."  
  
Isabo laughed brightly in response, and Tanar thought perhaps she was a perfect match for Auron after all. She apparently enjoyed the company of ill-tempered males -- a rarity, to be sure.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Buoyed by caffeine, they had spent the better part of the day roaming the village, and Isabo, like any female worth her salt, was delighted to discover she could help herself to certain things. Auron dutifully toted the day's heavier pilferings on their hike back to the cabin. Isabo's energy was noticeably flagging by the time they reached the hill, but she seemed happy -- dressed in her new peasant blouse, her old garment bulging with food tied in a knot at her waist.  
  
It was late by the time they had everything sorted out inside the cabin. Isabo was clearly conflicted about what to do when Auron suggested it was time to retire, walking toward her sleeping corner before skidding to a halt. Then she turned and walked back towards him. "Auron, I..."  
  
Auron shook his head and took her chin in his hand. "There is plenty of time for such things. We'll reorganize tomorrow. Tonight, you need your rest."  
  
"I suppose you're right, but I'm going to jump in the shower first, I think. I feel all gritty," Isabo said, her nose wrinkling.  
  
"Hmm," Auron mumbled, pulling his hand from her chin and rubbing his fingers together, "you are a bit crusty."  
  
Isabo rolled her eyes. "Well, thank you."  
  
That earned her a deep chuckle and his lips brushed against hers, followed by a throaty whisper into her hair. "Goodnight."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron ground his teeth together as he listened to the water running in the shower and her voice in a contented hum from below. It was all he could do to just listen, and not join her. He may have said there was time, but that had only been a courtesy. It was not how he felt. Knowing her body again could never happen soon enough.  
  
His attention sharpened at the sound of the tap closing off and the rustle of towel in her hair, then the pad of bare feet across the floorboards. The lights went off and he heard nothing for several minutes except the sound of her respiration. She had paused in the middle of the room. Then she moved again, and Auron stopped breathing for a moment when he heard her soft footfalls on the stairs.  
  
The way she looked when she entered the moonglow coming through the skylight and the scent of her -- soap clean and rainstorm flowers, would never be surpassed in his memory. Another man may well have told her. How beautiful he thought she was. How much he wanted her. But men such as he didn't make those sorts of admissions to anyone save themselves, and even then, only rarely.  
  
Then she moved to his side and spoke, and there was no trace of the child in her words. "I think maybe I'll show you how it's done this time."  
  
Auron smirked and crossed his arms behind his head. "That is rather forward of you."  
  
Isabo smiled. He may be one cool customer, but she saw the way he was breathing in a quicker rhythm than he had been just a few seconds ago. "Yes. Yes it is."  
  
Auron just lay there, unmoving, watching in glint-eyed fascination as she bent over him. First, her mouth to his, tugging at his lower lip, then at his jaw, now at the sensitive hollow of his throat, then trailing fire along his collar bone and down his chest -- her hands sliding up his sides from hips to armpits and back.  
  
Isabo knew she had him when she reached the taut plane of his stomach, and Auron finally made that sound in the back of his throat -- the one she had last heard on that glorious night in Zanarkand.  
  
"I have you in check now," She murmured against his skin. 


	16. The Emissary

Eterna: Chapter 16 -- The Emissary   
-----------------------------------  
  
Decadent. That described it pretty well, Isabo thought, grinning. She didn't even know how many days had passed. After dragging the sleeping mat upstairs, they had left the loft only long enough to shower. "Splendiferous," Isabo whispered to herself. Much better, she thought, heading up the stairs -- a piece of fruit in one hand and the sake jug in the other.  
  
Mere seconds after her backside hit the bedding an arm was pulling her horizontal. Isabo considered herself completely insane for thinking about her empty stomach when Auron rolled on top of her -- all rippling muscle, five o'clock shadow and bed-ruffled hair. He must be sensing a hesitance in her posture, which she did not -- bracing his weight on his forearms, half-lidded eyes studying her.  
  
"No?"  
  
No, Isabo thought. You don't do a thing for me. You're not very masculine. Not much to look at. No, nothing sexy here. But dang it, she really was starving. Isabo smiled somewhat sheepishly and waved her piece of fruit. "I'm hungry."  
  
Auron grabbed a handful of her hair and held it up under his nose. "Hurry up and finish your damned orange, I've got work to do."  
  
Isabo exploded -- laughing so hard she got a cramp in her side. Which was more hysterical -- Auron actually being playful, or the way he had done it. Pick one. Either way it was priceless.  
  
Auron sighed and tumbled to his back, some vague sense of decorum compelling him to pull the sheet up to his waist. Then he reached for the sake, tilting his chin up long enough to take a swig. He watched in mute frustration, while Isabo sat up and sank her fingernails into the rind of the orange -- the scent of citrus bursting across his senses as she peeled it, tore off a section, and then popped it into her mouth.  
  
"Mmm."  
  
Blast it, Auron silently swore. He'd better get control of himself -- he was very close to going after her again. The woman had turned him into a mindless beast. Conversation. Pose a question. Anything. "Have you considered making plans? Something special you'd like to do?" Wonderful. He sounded like a forlorn tonberry.  
  
The enquiry caught her by surprise. "I don't know," Isabo mused, tilting her head and tearing off another chunk of orange. "Nothing too outlandish," she added, dangling the section of fruit over Auron's mouth.  
  
Auron accepted it, chewing methodically -- the precise effort helping to distract him from the inconvenience in his loins.  
  
"I'd like to continue working on the cabin together, and I'd also like to learn how to cook. I'm ashamed to admit that I pretty much lived on take-out in Zanarkand."  
  
"You scramble a mean egg, if I recall."  
  
"Yes, but that's simple. I'm talking about cuisine."  
  
"Ah, cuisine. That's a different story."  
  
"Let me guess, you're a chef too, right?" Isabo asked, envisioning Auron casually tossing a cabbage over his head and turning it to slaw in mid-air.  
  
"Quite the opposite, but I'm an excellent judge of fine cuisine when it's prepared for me."  
  
"I see. I'm to serve you then?"  
  
Auron stretched his arms out over his head and yawned. "Hand and foot."  
  
Isabo laughed and threw a piece of orange peel at him. "Barbarian."  
  
"On occasion," Auron smirked.  
  
"What do you want to do? What would make you happy?"  
  
Good question, Auron thought, given he'd never deliberately made that sort of decision. This wasn't too shabby -- he wouldn't be opposed to staying in the loft for the remainder of eternity. Trying his hand at constructing furniture might be stimulating. He supposed all he really wanted was for things to be uncomplicated for as long as they could be -- to enjoy the simple everyday tasks and pleasures of a civilian. Was that so shamelessly self-indulgent? Maybe, but he cared little for drowning himself in ennui. There had been too much of that -- far too much. Where to begin then? Be impulsive. Verbalize what had darted across his thoughts just now.  
  
"Camping at the lake, and perhaps a little fishing."  
  
She didn't think she was going to be much of an outdoorswoman, but she'd give it a try. On the other hand, maybe he needed some time alone, or wanted to make it a guy thing. The thought of being away from him for even a day twisted her stomach into knots, but she'd encourage him to do that, if that's what he needed.  
  
"Do you want company? You could ask Grahl, or maybe Jecht would like to go."  
  
He understood her intentions and he was grateful for them. While his pleasure in the physical aspect of their relationship left nothing to her imagination, what she knew about his deeper feelings was scantling. He had been less than overt in that regard.   
  
"Just you and I," Auron said quietly, his eye color deepening with the intensity of his gaze.  
  
Isabo swallowed hard, fighting back tears. She thought she had managed it and knew she hadn't, when Auron reached up and brushed his thumb against her cheekbone.  
  
"Is the prospect of camping that abhorrent?" Auron asked, hoping to tease a smile from her.  
  
She gave him that very thing, along with a shake of her head and a pointed glance down at the bedsheet. "Not if you promise to pitch a tent."  
  
It was Auron's turn to laugh -- the sound of it coursing through her like warm music.  
  
"A shower and to the village for supplies. Then we leave at first light tomorrow," Auron said, his brow furrowing, sounding more like he was planning a military strategy than a pleasure trip.  
  
"Yes sir," Isabo said with a salute.  
  
Her reaction making him realize how he had just sounded, Auron chuckled at himself. "We could seek out some painting supplies as well."  
  
Isabo's face lit up and she slung herself across Auron's chest. "Yeah! I could work plein-aire. Then we could leave all the paintings in the village, you know, give them away. Just let people take whatever they want. Can we do that?"  
  
Auron's smile said yes. There was a bigger smile inside of him than the one he let show. She was so damned endearing at times -- sensible and level-headed, yet when piqued, the little girl showed up.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Do we need any of this?" Isabo pondered out loud, eyeing the array of pegs beside the front door.  
  
"A workshirt and my robe," Auron replied, reaching over her to snag the clothes and then slinging them over his shoulder.  
  
"Did you actually employ this weapon?" Isabo asked then, a shudder running down her back as she looked at Auron's sword leaning against the wall. She could appreciate the beauty of its craftsmanship, but the sheer deadliness it conveyed made her nervous.  
  
"All too often," Auron said, his hand reaching out -- fingers tracing the swirled ornament below the hilt. Strange. It seemed so far away at the moment -- the existence this piece of metal represented. No appointments with destiny, no sense of duty or weary regiment to spur him on to an end -- justified by means that left him empty and alone. How amusing. The heart-pounding adrenaline of battle replaced by something akin to excitement over the banality of a camping excursion. This feeling, was it normal? Perhaps this is what it was to be ordinary. Not some man turned machina, running on fumes -- its humanity falling by the wayside like so many spare parts.  
  
A hand on his cheek and a voice filled with regret brought him back. "I didn't mean to..."  
  
Auron leaned his head into her touch for a moment, and then assuaged her worry with a crooked smile. "It is worthwhile to be reminded of that which is no longer such a heavy burden," he said, then grabbed Isabo's hand and drug her out the door. "Let's go. Idleness awaits, and I intend to have my fair share."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Watch what you're doing, or you'll put the hook through your thumb," Auron chided.  
  
Isabo sighed heavily and cracked one eye open to finish baiting her hook, her face screwed up in a grimace. "Now What?"  
  
"Cast your line," Auron instructed, moving his arm back and forth to demonstrate.  
  
Isabo panicked. Oh no. Hand-eye coordination. "Couldn't I just drop it in the water?"  
  
Auron gave her a look of growing impatience. "Not if you wish to do it properly."  
  
"That goes without saying," Isabo said evenly. I swear, she thought, he'll pay for making me do this -- treesap in his boots, or otter pellets in his tea. She closed her eyes in a silent prayer, swinging the pole back over her shoulder and then snapped it forward.  
  
Auron chuckled when her line hit the water an adequate distance from shore -- Isabo looking on in disbelief. No doubt she had been expecting a hook in the back of her head. Then she looked at him, her raised eyebrows asking a question.  
  
"Now you wait," Auron stated tonelessly.  
  
This was nice, Isabo decided, tilting her face up to catch the breeze that had sprung up. It had been cold when they had started, but now it was much warmer. Wonderfully peaceful too -- the sounds of water lapping at the shore, tree limbs rustling above, and just now the soft warble of a bird -- calling out for no reason other than the need to sing. Then she rotated her head to take in the gorgeous scenery standing in the lake. Auron had waded out a little ways to cast his line, facing away from her. She took the opportunity that afforded her, studying every detail. From the glasses shoved atop his head to pin dark layers of hair between the broad expanse of his shoulders, down the perfect ridges of his back to the gentle slope of pelvis over the top of his pants that were rolled up over his knees -- the water making little rings around his lean shanks. She thought he looked positively adorable. Boy, wouldn't he just spit nails if he knew she was thinking that.  
  
Isabo's head snapped around when she felt the pole vibrate in her hands, squealing when she saw the line bow. "I've got one!"  
  
Auron looked over his shoulder. "Pull it in." Then thought perhaps he should have given clearer instructions, when Isabo simply began to run backwards. Her foot found a rock and she cartwheeled her arms, still hanging on to the pole, then landed squarely on her rump -- the fall bringing her line arcing out of the water with a large trout attached.  
  
It looked like something out of one of those inane video games on ZanNet that Tidus used to play, and Auron began to laugh, unable to stop himself.  
  
"Hilarious," Isabo snarled at him. Then she looked down at the fish. Its sides were heaving, the sun reflecting off its rainbowed scales, hook turned cruelly in its mouth. Revolted, Isabo dropped the pole and scrambled to her feet, backing away. "Can we save it? Please. I don't want to watch it die. We have to put it back!"  
  
Isabo looked up. Auron was standing frozen in place, his face tight with an emotion she couldn't name.  
  
"The term for it is catch and release," Auron explained a few minutes later. His voice was low, almost reverent, his hands lowering the fish gently into the water.  
  
She had upset him. That was clear. He was trying to enjoy himself and she had ruined it. What a perfect idiot. She was behaving like a child. Well then, do it properly, she thought, Auron's words echoing in her head. Isabo looked around for something to initiate her tantrum and settled for a pinecone -- kicking it into the lake.  
  
"I'm sorry to have spoiled your fun. I knew I wasn't going to be any good at this, or any good for you. I knew it!" Isabo cried bitterly, whirling around to bore a hole in the nearest tree trunk with her eyes. "I'm nothing but a..."  
  
"Desist!" Auron commanded, silencing the self-tirade, his fingers locking around her wrist to spin her around.  
  
Auron didn't do anything for a few moments after that, just letting his eyes roam over her features. Then he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. Kissed her so deep and long that before he was finished, her knees had buckled and he had to tighten his grip to keep her from collapsing to the ground.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Regardless of how rested he felt, he couldn't deny a twinge of guilt, sleeping in so late. Isabo had left a pot of tea for him in the embers of the fire. Her coffee cup was absent, and the paints were missing. She must have gone to the meadow again. She seemed to be obsessed with it. His head came up to scan the fertile field on the far side of the lake. Sure enough, there she was -- wearing nothing but his workshirt. He didn't know why, but she looked more feminine and appealing in that baggy thing, than the finest gown gil could buy.  
  
"I like this one, let's keep it," The baritone said, as strong arms encircled her from behind.  
  
"If it pleases you, My Knight," Isabo replied with a warm smile, putting the brush down and turning to face him.  
  
"I don't know how you do it."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Always manage to get more paint on your face than on the canvas," Auron said, swiping a finger across her nose then holding it up to show her.  
  
"Oh, go fell a tree or something. I want to finish this."  
  
Auron ignored her and undid the top button of the workshirt. "I think not."  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing," Auron replied in a husky smirk, leaning over to nuzzle her ear, his fingers nimbly continuing down the front of his borrowed garment.  
  
"Right here? What if someone comes by?" Isabo said, looking around self-consciously. Then she closed her eyes with a shuddering intake of breath when Auron pulled the shirt open and filled his hands with her.  
  
"Then we'll sell tickets," Auron chuckled, pulling her with him down into the sweet smell of the grass.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron was sleeping so deeply he was barely breathing, Isabo propped up on an elbow, watching him. She loved to see him in sleep -- his lips softly parted and all the worry-lines in his face relaxed. Then Isabo tensed when all the lines suddenly deepened and Auron made a raw sound of distress, a hand traveling to his forehead. "Auron?" Isabo whispered, her fingers caressing his shoulder. Then a light passed under his hand, and then another. Pyreflies, she thought, the trails reflecting across the corneas of her eyes as they grew in number and began to swarm around them -- enveloping the tent's interior in a glowing cloud of memory.  
  
Inside. Inside the vast and monstrous heart. Someone is trapped there -- quiet, then a cry of pure agony when something awakens -- and begins to feed. Voices. Whispering the same question over and over, then rising to shriek the answer. Never. Never. The man finds a way to speak, his voice tinged with madness. "Takin' a wild ride! All the way! Everybody who's dead and gettin' off at Zanarkand raise your hands!" Then the man laughs -- a chilling sound, devoid of human compassion. The view rotates to a man on his knees, clutching the remains of a summoner's staff -- his youthful beauty ruined by a fault-line of open flesh. His voice joins the renewed cries of the other -- a guttural wail of anguish and despair that rends his countenance even more horribly than the wound. Then his features begin to shift like liquid across the screen of his face -- young to old, old to young and back -- his long, raven hair strobing white.  
  
Isabo backed out of the tent on her hands and knees and stood. Then she turned and ran blindly into the night -- her mind only capable of registering two words -- oh god oh god oh god.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron scratched lazily at his chest and straightened, buttoning his pants. He looked toward the meadow expecting to see her there -- capturing the sunrise on canvas, and in her hair.  
  
Not there. Wrong. Then he noticed the camp pit was cold. She had not started a fire for coffee. Very wrong, he thought with a frown, striding off toward the shoreline.   
  
He found her back in the trees along the north side of the lake -- curled up in a shivering ball, not a stitch on.  
  
"What are you doing out here like this?" Auron asked more gruffly than he meant to, kneeling and running his hand down her back.  
  
"Needed to. Bad dream. Just a dream," Isabo said numbly, straightening up and placing one pale hand on his thigh.  
  
Liar, Auron thought. Her face was ashen, and dark circles of shock rimmed the flesh beneath her eyes -- she looked like she had been through the bowels of hell. The cause of this had been no dream.  
  
"Give me the truth," Auron demanded.  
  
Isabo leaned into him and buried her face against his neck. She couldn't look at him and say it. She couldn't. "Pyreflies in the tent... they showed me... I saw..."  
  
"Saw what?" Auron asked, his heart pounding.  
  
"You. Inside that thing. That..." Isabo choked the words off, her body quaking.  
  
He thought he should be putting his arms around her, but his limbs refused to obey, hanging uselessly at his sides. Tell her, damn you. Tell her to go on. "What else?"  
  
"Takin' a wild ride... all the way..."   
  
Auron's face drained of color.  
  
It was the memory he had buried deepest. Feared most. That led to the darkest place. The moment past the impotence of blind rage. The moment beyond his will to get to Yuna and having failed -- to the sea. The moment when he had known. Really known. His Lord was gone -- Braska was dead. Jecht had chosen and been accepted, now paying the price -- when all he had ever wanted was to just go home. The moment when he had felt his soul compressing into a black hole -- all that he was or ever would be drawn into the event horizon surrounding it -- no escape.  
  
Isabo steeled herself to look upon him -- his eyes beyond bearing. She released a strangled sob and pulled his head against her chest -- her hands digging into his back, holding him tight -- with all of the strength she had. Not a single noise came from him, but she felt what collected at her breast and then began to trail down her skin in slow rivers. Unshed tears. So many unshed tears.  
  
"Let it go. It's okay to let it go. It's okay."  
  
Auron wanted to believe and found he could -- fumbling blindly for something to hold and finding her hair -- the place where the sunrise had shone so brightly. He wrapped his hands in it.  
  
Holding on. Letting go.  
  
Isabo's face suddenly turned calm -- her gaze falling on the lake and then moving up to the treetops. There was no sound. No wind. No birdsong. Even the water was glass. All existence had grown hushed and still on the Farplane.   
  
To bear witness. 


	17. Domestic Bliss

Eterna: Chapter 17 -- Domestic Bliss   
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo climbed halfway up the stairs and then stood on tiptoe, chin lifting to peek over the last few risers -- checking on him.  
  
She still felt bad about it. That she had left him there alone too spent to even speak, while she had run back to camp long enough to throw on some clothes. When he was able to stand, she had slung his arm around her neck and done her best to get him home in one piece. It might have been smarter to just get him to the tent, but their supplies were depleted, and his condition frightened her. She had talked to him the whole way back -- prattling on about decorating ideas she had for the cabin and cracking as many jokes as she could think of. He had even reacted once -- a weak chuckle when she had described how close she had come to just taking off with him -- and couldn't he just picture a stark-naked banshee hauling mister mega cool through the flower fields. They had fallen once trying to get up the hill, but that had hurt nothing but her pride. The trip up the stairs to the loft had ended up being the hardest part -- it was a miracle both their necks weren't broken. The rest had been comparatively easy -- just get his boots off and get him under the covers. He had fallen asleep immediately -- so deeply that he seemed almost comatose. Then she had left him again. Twice.  
  
That guilt brought her hands up to scrub the hair back on her forehead, and she took the last three steps to the landing.  
  
So, it hadn't been her eyes playing tricks on her after all. He definitely looked younger. There were only wisps of white at his temples now, and his skin was a little tighter -- the care-lines less pronounced. On the surface, he looked like a thirty-something man who had suffered a hard life -- a warrior's life. Underneath, was a man who had endured a nightmare beyond her imagining, and had found the courage to confront it and pass through to the other side. It made her nauseous, to think she had once dared compare her sorrow to his. But that wasn't the end of it. Oh no. There was more. She was wondering if his appearance was a temporary manifestation, or if this was permanent. If it was transitory, the changes would continue -- and those changes could be more than just skin deep. That asked two questions -- the selfish ones. The ones she hated herself for asking. She loved him just the way he was -- the big, beautiful grump. Would she still love him if he were radically different? Would he still love her? God, she was scared. More scared about that than she'd ever been -- about anything. If he didn't love her anymore, she'd have to leave -- they had gone too far past friendship for there to be any other choice. Then she'd be alone again. She was tough, but not that tough. She wouldn't be able to deal with that -- being alone here. Being without him. It might not be so bad though. If he still did, maybe he could tell her. Hearing him say it just once -- that would be enough to last her for the rest of time.  
  
Then a soft knock on the front door jolted her from her thoughts. Wincing and shooting a glance at Auron's still sleeping form, she turned and quickly padded down the stairs.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
A half-seen face peered suspiciously around the edge of the door.   
  
That brought a smile to Braska's lips -- thinking the paranoia of city life was a hard habit to break. "Hello."  
  
"Hi," Isabo whispered simply in return, then looked back over her shoulder and slid around the door, closing it softly behind her. "Auron's asleep, I don't want to wake him."  
  
Braska grinned impishly. "Auron? Asleep in the middle of the afternoon?"  
  
"He's very tired, he..." Isabo faded off, pressing a hand against her forehead. Get it together, Isabo, she told herself. Then she dropped her hand and walked down the steps of the deck and out onto the grass.   
  
Braska glided along at her heels, his eyebrows drawing together. Why didn't I see it sooner? He thought, noticing how pale and sunken-eyed she was. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I have known Auron since childhood, he and I are very close."  
  
Isabo smiled despite the sick-fear in the pit of her stomach -- thinking about the stories Braska would have. "Really? I'd love to hear about that some time."  
  
"And so you shall," Braska smiled back, "but tell me, what of Auron?"  
  
Isabo turned to look down the hill toward the forest. "We went camping at the lake. There was an... incident that allowed him to..." Isabo stopped, drawing a hand back through her hair. She couldn't think of the right word at the moment, but she wouldn't cheapen it by simply saying he had wept in her arms. She wouldn't do that. Not even for Braska. Then she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Catharsis."  
  
Not a question. A knowing.   
  
"Yes."  
  
The hand slipped from her shoulder and Isabo turned. Braska had taken a few steps away, a hand rubbing his chin as he searched the late day sky -- hair the same color shifting around his back in the breeze coming over the top of the hill. Isabo followed him to return the favor -- Braska's hand coming from his chin and patting the tops of her fingers.  
  
"Good," Braska said, his voice constricted, "that's good." Then he turned around and took her hand. "Don't be overly worried. All he needs is rest. He's going to be all right. Everything will be all right. In the interim, is there anything you need?"  
  
What a genuinely wonderful human being, Isabo thought, looking into those gentle eyes. With just a few simple words and gestures, he had made her feel so much better. There was more to this man's magic than mere spells. "Well, I hesitate to ask..."  
  
"Ask! Or I shall melt your sandals!" Braska commanded, pulling himself upright, a slender finger pointing ominously at her feet.  
  
"No you won't," Isabo stated with a giggle.  
  
Perceptive, he thought. This one catches on quick. Beware, Auron my friend, beware. "Perhaps I can guess then," Braska said, eyes twinkling.  
  
Isabo giggled again. "You're a menace."  
  
"So I've been told."  
  
"Okay then. I need to know what Auron's favorite soup is and then I need the ingredients," Isabo paused, her voice dropping, "I'd get them myself, but I don't want to leave him again, I don't..."  
  
A soft chuckle and a squeeze of her hand said she didn't need to finish. "It would be my honor to shop for a lady who wishes to care for the man she loves."  
  
Isabo blushed and looked down, and then her head came back up -- a deep yearning in her large hazel eyes. "Braska?"  
  
"What is it?" Braska prodded gently, cocking his head.  
  
"Well, I know this is the afterlife, so maybe it doesn't matter, but do you think it's... I mean do you see it as improper..." Isabo tapered off, her eyes traveling over his shoulder to the front of the cabin.  
  
Braska turned her head back with a hand on her cheek. "Oh, Yevon no. Never think that for a moment. What the two of you have shared has bound you together in the most pure way that exists, in a way that no rite or ceremony could ever hope to do."  
  
A smile lit up her eyes then, and Braska saw clearly, what Auron must -- that she loved him with all of her being, and that she needed him as much as he needed her.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Arms slumped on the counter, Isabo extended her lower lip -- blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes that had escaped from her ponytail.  
  
Simple and quick to make -- that's easy for you to say, Melia, she thought with a wry smile, running a finger down the paper -- making sure she had done it right. Half-teaspoon hot sesame oil, black pepper, one-cup thinly sliced shitake, two clumps dried seaweed broken into small pieces. Check. Let's get adventurous, she thought then, reaching over to grab the sake -- her tongue curled up against one side of her mouth as she carefully tipped the jug, adding a generous splash to the pot.  
  
"And maybe a little for the cook," she mumbled, taking a quick taste. "Okay, just need to heat it all up and then add the soy bean paste and the scallions."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo froze and tilted her head, ladle poised in her hand -- the rustle of bed covers and a grunt to sit up. He was awake. Shoot. She had wanted to brew tea, pick a flower and put everything on a tray -- make it perfect. Oh well.  
  
"Hello there, how are you doing?"  
  
A hoarse rasp and then a cough to clear his throat. "I'm fine."   
  
It was her Auron so far. Still big -- still beautiful -- and be careful what you wish for -- still grumpy. Seriously grumpy. Which was understandable, considering the emotional gauntlet he had run, and the fact that he had slept for two days straight. The word adorable had popped into her head again while looking at him -- unguarded, blinking the sleep from his eyes and his hair sticking straight up in wild spikes. With just a little effort, maybe just a slight narrowing of her eyes -- she would see a boy just waking from his nap. But god help her, this was no boy -- to be placated by a pat on the head and be good and eat your soup. How was she going to get him to stay put and eat something when he was in this sort of mood? She was tired. Real tired. Which meant he wasn't the only one with an attitude. Crud-in-a-side-car. Then he leaned forward and grabbed his boots.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"I'm going to the lake. The camp must be broken down, and your paintings, my robe..."  
  
"Relax and have something to eat, okay? Everything is here, it's all been taken care of."  
  
A foot frozen in mid-air over his boot. "How?"  
  
"I did it."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Is that so hard to believe?" The truth was, if she hadn't been dead already it would have killed her. It had taken her two trips and she had mangled the tent badly trying to figure out how to collapse it. She had made up a few new cuss words though, so it hadn't been a total disaster.  
  
"No! It is only that you should not have had to..." Auron abruptly halted, and then slung his boots into the corner with a jangling thump.  
  
Great, she thought. Now I've got a bruised male ego to contend with too -- I'm royally hosed. Try charm.  
  
"It was good for me, really. Look," Isabo said, flexing her arm to show him her bicep.  
  
Auron smirked.  
  
"That's better. Now eat something," Isabo said, extending the bowl at him.  
  
The bowl was pushed back at her. "Stop mothering me."  
  
Isabo's forehead wrinkled. "Stop being a pain."  
  
"This argument is futile," Auron said, dismissing her with a turn of his head and a waved hand.  
  
"It most certainly is. Eat!" Isabo said, dipping the spoon in the soup and holding it up.  
  
Auron grabbed the spoon from her and shoved it into his mouth, teeth clattering against metal -- then a stiff thrust of his arm forward to drop it back into the bowl with a splatter. "Satisfied?"  
  
"Extremely," Isabo hissed, opening her hands to let the bowl go with a dull thud -- its contents sloshing across the floor. Then she stood up and stomped down the stairs, her sarcasm carrying back to him. "I worked hard on that, and it's so gratifying to see you enjoy it."  
  
Auron saw light flooding across the ceiling when she opened the front door, and then a shout up to the loft. "I'm not cleaning that up either!"  
  
"No one asked you to!" Auron shouted back -- then the front window rattling in its frame when she slammed the door behind her. Chiseled arms were folded across tensed pecs. "Hmph!"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
The storm eventually passed -- his thoughts turning elsewhere. Beneath the brooding temper, there was acceptance and serenity -- the bitterness was gone. He had ceased being at war with himself. He would never again be that idealistic innocent he had been at twenty-five, but that was fine. He had earned these qualities and he would retain them -- they were his. He would wear those laurels proudly.  
  
But in achieving that victory, he had failed to protect her. She had been vulnerable. The fact that no real harm could befall her in this place didn't change those instincts -- to protect those you love. That was inescapable. Eternal. Then he had taken that frustration out on the very thing he wished to protect -- and it was not the first time he had done such a thing. What an utter fool.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
She reached down and dug her fingers into the ground at her side -- tearing a chunk of grass up, and then hurled it down the hill.  
  
She was feeling a little crazy. Okay, more than a little. Let's be honest here, Isabo. She was ticked-off, frightened, disoriented, tired and lonely. And if she felt that way, how must Auron feel? She should have been more patient, she should have... "Shit!" Isabo yelled at the horizon, and then dropped her head to her knees.  
  
-----------------------------------   
  
Auron reached down to dip the end of his finger in the congealing soup puddle, and then brought it to his tongue. "Huh."  
  
-----------------------------------   
  
Isabo raised her head from her arms, sniffing at the air, and then pivoted around. Smoke billowing from the chimney told her that maybe it was okay to go back inside now.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Steam rose from the reheated pot of soup on the stove. Auron was sitting on the edge of the hearth with a crackling fire warming his back -- feet wide apart and bent at the waist, forearms resting on his thighs. The only response to her entrance was a slight tilt of his head and one dark brow moving upward. Then he returned his attention to his meal -- the spoon going up and down in a steady cadence between the bowl and his mouth.  
  
Incredible, she thought, watching him. I did something right. Then she wordlessly crossed the room and sat next to him, fingers picking at the sleeve of her blouse.  
  
Balancing the bowl on one knee, Auron put an arm around her, drawing her against him, and then resumed eating. "It is excellent soup."  
  
Isabo melted into his side. "Thanks."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Later, as they lay spooned beneath the skylight -- speaking in those quiet midnight conversations that all who have been joined so engage in, she had found the courage to tell him, and then ask him. He rumbled a pleased chuckle and tightened his grip on the warmth of her abdomen, lips pressing a kiss behind her ear.   
  
"This is it. This is what I am, and this is how I will remain. I'm afraid you're stuck." 


	18. Monk and Magpie

Eterna: Chapter 18 -- Monk and Magpie   
-----------------------------------  
  
A fragrant curl of cedar grew in front of the planer -- Auron's arms moving down the length of wood held in a vise on the workbench. He pushed another pass over the surface, and then bent at the knees and blew the wood dust away before closing one eye to check his progress. Close. He was improving at judging when things were square and level. He could save himself the trouble and use the power tools packed away in the back, but he trusted his hands and eyes over machina to get the job done to his satisfaction, and took far more enjoyment from that method. His first project had been rather crude -- a simple bench for the front deck, but it had been a good piece to learn on.  
  
Learning. That seemed to be the theme of late. Not only a new craft, but more importantly, how to co-exist with a certain woman -- that had quite a curve to it, he thought with a small smile, amusing himself.  
  
Within the past fortnight, he had been taught one lesson the hard way. He almost always woke just before dawn. Sometimes, he would roll quietly from her side and head downstairs to shower and start a fire and the kettle -- the smell of coffee usually sufficient to rouse her. Other times, he would stay -- to enjoy the warm closeness until she woke. But on this particular morning, he found he had other things in mind upon awakening and proceeded to act upon them, attempting to wake her with a little gentle foreplay. He had misinterpreted the moans and growls coming from her as passion. It wasn't until she made a sound like an enraged Dual Horn and slammed her elbow into his nose that he realized she was less than pleased by his attentions. When she had come fully awake and seen him pinching the bridge of his nose trying to stem the flow of blood, she had been horrified and apologized profusely. He had thought the whole thing highly amusing -- trying to chuckle and only managing to cough before vowing not to disturb her slumber in the future.  
  
There were other facets to discover about one another. All the habits, flaws and preferences duly noted -- met with as much aplomb as they could summon. He preferred spare order -- Isabo liked clutter. They had argued about that specific difference at length one evening, until they had settled on a compromise. Isabo had removed enough doo-dads to satisfy him, and he had reciprocated by admitting that the cabin was made comfortable by her treasures, and that if left to him, there would be nothing adorning the interior save his sword. There were things they agreed on -- nothing should dress the windows but the views, that dishes were never to be left in the sink overnight, and that it was perfectly acceptable to subsist on sake when staples ran low.  
  
Most assuredly, there were sides to her he had yet to perceive, and his continuing erudition of this capricious female he had taken into his heart was an experience he would never grow weary of. He was learning things about himself as well. He sometimes felt as though he was a reptile shedding its skin -- revealing layers never seen before. He found it somewhat invigorating. Perhaps Isabo's inexhaustible enthusiasm was wearing off on him. Have a care mister mega cool, he thought with an inward chuckle, or your reputation will be shot to hell.  
  
Auron's head came up and he squinted into the sharp winter sunshine outside the shed door when he heard his merry fiend humming to herself as she approached.  
  
"May I enter the inner-sanctum?"  
  
"You may, but watch your step," Auron said, his head inclining toward the floor of the workshed -- the planks littered with scraps of wood, nails and joinery biscuits.  
  
Isabo navigated the minefield carefully and then held a spoonful of something up from a saucepan cradled in one arm. "Taste this."  
  
Auron leaned forward and ran his mouth over the spoon, swallowing. His gullet worked again and he blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "What is it?"  
  
"Well, it's..." Isabo started, then dipped the spoon back in the pot and sampled the mixture herself. "Augh," she said, her face contorting in disgust. Then she coughed and laughed. "Boot polish?"  
  
A chuckle from Auron. "Not one of your best efforts."  
  
"That's an understatement," Isabo said, "sorry for making you test this mess," she continued, frowning into the pot as though she could intimidate it into a delicacy.  
  
Auron rubbed his knuckles against his throat. "You have a penchant."  
  
"Oh, that's right!" Isabo said with a giggle, looking up. "That night of the reception."  
  
"Correct," Auron nodded, and then his eyes sparkled with mischief while extending an arm, fingers moving backwards. "Hand it over."  
  
Isabo raised her eyebrows and handed him the saucepan. Auron grabbed a rag off the bench and dipped it in the dark amber liquid, and then rubbed it along the length of the table leg. "Furniture stain."  
  
Isabo threw her head back and laughed, then leaned forward to examine the table leg. "It is a rather nice color." Then she grinned at him. "Should I make some more?"  
  
"I believe this will be quite enough," Auron said, the double-entendre sending them both into laughter.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Where would be most advantageous?" Auron thought aloud, holding the table and looking around the room.  
  
Isabo knew exactly where she wanted it. She had figured that out days ago, but it was his creation and the ultimate decision should be his. All she had a right to offer was a suggestion. "How about over here? It would be close to the kitchen, would give us a nice view out the window while we eat or whatever, but still be far enough away from the stairs not to get in our way."  
  
Auron's low grunt communicated agreement with her logic. "As you wish, Milady."  
  
"Ha!" Isabo said, pointing a finger at him as he moved across the room, "I've caught you! That's twice you've called me that, it's a pet name!"  
  
"I beg to differ," Auron defended, setting the table in place, "It is merely a common honorific."  
  
Isabo sighed. It was pointless to argue with him when he used that tone. She walked to his side and ran her hand over the smooth curve of the tabletop. "It's a very beautiful table. You should be proud."  
  
Auron placed his hands on her waist and turned her toward him. "I should, should I?"  
  
"Definitely," Isabo nodded, reaching up to flick sawdust from Auron's shoulder.  
  
"If you insist," Auron rumbled, and then silenced further conversation with his lips against hers.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo poured herself a second cup and took a long swallow, stretching the kinks out of her neck. She was a little stiff from all the deep cleaning she had been doing, but the results were nice. The cabin smelled so fresh and looked so polished. She had celebrated the accomplishment by joyfully filling every container she could get her hands on with the first flowers of spring -- the effect pleasant enough to elicit Auron's appreciation, and that had been the best reward of all. With that done, she was thinking about starting a new series of paintings. She had not done much of that during the inclement weather, but laying in the loft this morning she had decided there was something else she'd rather do first, and wanted to discuss it with Auron.  
  
She was a little wary about approaching him with it though, uncertain about his current mood. She was careful now to allow him space when he needed it. As she had learned through the soup incident -- when Auron was somber you gave him a wide berth. You did not try to cajole him from his tetchiness with affection or words -- as anything deemed cute or smarmy was swiftly rejected. You simply got the heck out of his way until it passed.   
  
She didn't think he was presently in that sort of mental state, but she couldn't be sure. She had woke in the middle of the night to find him gone, and had peeked through the loft railing to see him sitting silent and still at the front window, his sake jug on his knee. He hadn't seemed sad or in pain -- just thoughtful. She knew he had been healed to a great extent, but there was more to Auron's moods than hidden sorrow. There was just something about him, something she had recognized as she took in the details of his sculpted figure etched in moonlight. Auron was an enigma -- a deep and beautiful secret. Even his scent was mysterious -- an intoxicating blend of earth and fire and spice that was impossible to adequately describe. She had known at that moment that there were places within him that she would never see -- places where she must never ask to go. But she could accept that, and love him all the more for it. She hoped he felt the same now that he knew her better. There were things about her that weren't all that pretty. She could only hope he loved her enough to put up with her shortcomings.  
  
A sound from outside took her from her thoughts and to the front window. Auron was already hard at it, just as he had been for nearly a week -- replenishing the store of firewood that had been consumed over the cold months. She never tired of watching him. How he moved with such powerful grace as he swung the axe over his shoulder and down -- splitting the lengths in two like they were butter, rather than wood. It made her bones turn to jelly, when she thought about the fact he had decided that all that magnificence was for her alone. He seemed to be relaxed and at ease, and was probably enjoying himself. That's my cue, she thought with a crooked smile. Time to go pester the poor man.  
  
"I want to plant a vegetable garden," Isabo said, her forehead wrinkling in that way that meant she would have her garden, or the universe would be destroyed by her wrath.  
  
Auron rested the axe haft on his shoulder for a moment, then buried its head in the stump and draped his arm across the handle. "Nothing's stopping you."  
  
Isabo shrugged. "Nothing, except the fact that I don't know a thing about horticulture."  
  
"Then I suggest you educate yourself," Auron replied with a subtle wave of his hand.  
  
"Right," Isabo said. Then she kissed him soundly and whirled, heading off down the hill -- her arms swinging in a determined rhythm.  
  
He shook his head, and then went back to splitting firewood, hoping the Farplane could protect the hapless villagers -- unaware of the doom descending upon them in the form of a woman intent.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Auron had just finished stoking the fire, and now sat on the floor with his back propped against the hearth when Isabo came through the door -- carrying an armload of handbound books, a leather flask, and an unidentified rectangle wrapped in waxed paper.  
  
"I scored," Isabo said triumphantly, plopping down in the chair and dropping the items next to her.  
  
"What's in the skin?" Auron asked, pointing at the flagon.  
  
"Wine, which is for you," Isabo explained, handing it to him, "but this, is all mine," she finished in gleeful avidity, unwrapping a thick block of chocolate.  
  
"You'd refuse me?" Auron asked in amusement.  
  
"Bet your fine behind I would," Isabo quipped. Opening one of the books across her lap, she bit off a piece of the dark confection -- her eyes closing for a moment before beginning to read.  
  
Auron said nothing more, chuckling. Then he sampled the wine and let his thoughts drift -- watching the wild patterns of firelight grow against the walls. His peaceful reverie was short-lived however, when Isabo proceeded to drive him mad by forcing him to share in every detail she found interesting.  
  
"Listen to this," Isabo said, for what Auron believed to be the hundredth time. "Manure has long been considered to be best, however, using a small fish as fertilizer is the simplest and most effective means of feeding many new plantings."  
  
"Fascinating," Auron moaned. Then his shoulders shifted and his hand shot up to catch the wad of waxed paper that had been hurled at his head. "Your accuracy continues to improve."  
  
"I think you're being unsupportive."  
  
"And I think you're quite alluring when provoked."  
  
"Oh, really."  
  
Auron waited calmly while Isabo dropped her book and launched herself from the chair.  
  
Isabo lay blinking in shock, having been grabbed and pinned to the floor before she knew what hit her. Then she quickly decided that Auron's predatory expression was both alarming and utterly provocative. "Wait! I didn't mean it! Help! Somebody help!" Isabo cried in feigned distress as she writhed and laughed beneath him.  
  
"You are at my mercy," Auron said, leaning in to growl against the exposed stretch of her neck -- enjoying this as much as she was.  
  
When they were done, lying in a tangled heap of contentment on the rug in front of the hearth, Auron said quietly, "Tomorrow, I will assist you with the garden."  
  
"Garden?" Isabo asked dreamily.  
  
The sound of their mingled laughter wafted out through the window and into the reaches of the Farplane's night -- the sound like the brief illumination of a shooting star in the dark.  
  
-------------------------------  
  
True to his word, Auron helped her dig up the topsoil and prepare the ground for her precious seedlings. In the weeks ahead, Isabo fussed over the young plants like a hen -- checking their progress constantly, tending to them as though her very existence depended on their survival and growth. Auron didn't have the heart to tell her that she would never win a prize for her green thumb, as she took so much pleasure in her efforts.  
  
Then one sultry summer morning, Isabo bustled into the workshed, where Auron was working out the plans for a set of chairs he had decided to construct.  
  
"Come look!" She said in a high-pitched excitement, grabbing Auron's sleeve and pulling him toward the door.  
  
"What?" Auron finally asked, as they stood in her little patch of tilled earth.  
  
"Can't you see it?"  
  
Auron raked his gaze across the scrubby little plantings and furrows, looking for something miraculous, and failing.  
  
Isabo pointed. "There!"  
  
Auron's eyes followed her finger, finally seeing what all the fuss was about. Then he chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground. "Congratulations mother Isabo... it's a tomato."  
  
Isabo apparently thought that was the most humorous thing she had ever heard, throwing her arms around his neck and laughing until she got the hiccups. When she could breathe again, she kissed the furrow between Auron's eyebrows. "I've been thinking."  
  
"Pity," Auron replied, "as that usually results in a fresh spate of chores."  
  
Isabo smiled and rested a fingertip in the cleft of Auron's upper lip. "Not this time. I was just thinking it might be nice to invite everyone over for a get-together. Nothing fancy -- just a little food, a fire as only you can make it, and lots of conversation. What do you say?"  
  
Auron swung her around in a circle. "I say you'll make a charming hostess."  
  
Isabo raised her arms over her head. "Yes!"  
  
It was then that Auron knew. They had at last discovered together, what they had been seeking and never finding while alive.  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Calm down, you're wearing ruts in the floor," Auron teased, watching Isabo cross the room to rearrange the serving dishes again.  
  
"Am I being a complete flibbertigibbet?" She asked with an embarrassed smile.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Auron replied with a chuckle. "Why don't we go outside and enjoy the view while we wait for our guests to arrive."  
  
Isabo sighed and sauntered toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her head against his chest. "Must you always be so maddeningly clever?"  
  
Auron smirked and rested his chin in her hair. "Would you prefer me a dunderhead?"  
  
"Maybe just once in a while," Isabo giggled, "you're enough to give one a complex."  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
Isabo had determined that coiling Auron's hair around her fingers and delivering kisses to the underside of his jaw was a much better way to pass the time than admiring the view. She smiled and looked up at him to gauge his reaction, frowning when she saw a different look than expected. Auron was ignoring her, his eyes narrowed, looking intently over her shoulder at something down the hill. Isabo turned and saw the small group approaching from the south and started to speak, then realized Auron's attention was not there, but to the north. A spot of white had appeared at the edge of the flower fields -- a head rose to sniff at the air, and then the figure broke into a run. Isabo brought a hand up to shield her eyes. "Is that Grahl?"  
  
"Wait here for the others," Auron stated in his don't question just do it voice, and walked off down the embankment in lengthening strides.  
  
Something's wrong, Isabo thought -- she could see it in every line of his posture as he moved purposefully away from her. She wrapped her arms around her midsection -- suddenly cold. She had a terrible feeling that their happiness was about to be seriously threatened. "Too good to last," she whispered. 


	19. A Warrior's Gifts

Eterna: Chapter 19 -- A Warrior's Gifts  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Do you understand?" Auron asked, his hand pressed between her shoulder blades. And if you do, perhaps you can explain it to me, he thought. He had not given a tinker's damn the first time. But now, he considered it as one of the most difficult things he would ever do -- to take the chance. That they could be separated -- that he may never see her again. How could he do this? Everything rested in her response. All it would take would be for her to ask him to stay. He wouldn't have the strength to refuse her.  
  
Auron saw raw fear in her eyes when she turned -- but he also saw strength of character in the set of her face. She knew. She knew full well this was bigger than them, that it must be done, and she was going to put up a brave front. How he loved her for that -- that and so much more. You must tell her before you go, he thought. She deserves that. Do not take that regret with you.  
  
"Go do what you have to do," she said barely above a whisper, then raised her chin and gave him the most heartbreaking smile. "Just do me a favor, and try not to be too heroic, okay tough guy?" She finished in a stronger voice, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.  
  
He caught her hand before she could take it back and pressed his lips against her palm, and then did his best to smirk. "No promises."  
  
Isabo wanted to give him the comfort of a laugh, but she couldn't muster one. It was taking everything she had to just meet his gaze. To look into that world beyond his eyes -- the one that went on forever. The one she would always be lost in.  
  
Auron was having difficulties of his own at the sight of her upturned face -- it never failed to take his breath. From that first moment in Zanarkand to this, she had always had that power over him -- and she didn't even know it.   
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Why are we waitin' around? Let's get this show on the road," Jecht said, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.  
  
"Grahl asked me to wait for his return, and I intend to honor that request," Auron explained flatly, stepping back from the wall as he removed his katana from its display.   
  
"Has it occurred to either of you that we may be getting too old for this sort of thing?" Braska asked with a crooked smile.  
  
"I thought we agreed to drop that subject," Auron grumbled, not looking up as he attached the shoulder guard to his robe.  
  
"You two may be a couple of old lamers, but I'm still the best, so don't worry about it," Jecht grated.  
  
Melia had a firm grasp on Isabo and Dwen's hands, the three of them taking strength from one another. She muttered under her breath, both women squeezing her hands in response. "Is this the most splendid display of machismo you've ever seen, or what?"  
  
-----------------------------------  
  
"Hmm," Tanar mumbled from Grahl's arms, twirling his mustache, his eyes taking on a far away look -- as though he was seeing through the wall to something far beyond it.  
  
Braska sighed. "So we go forthwith, as the entrance to the plane may as yet be unstable."  
  
Jecht pumped a fist. "Right! Let's hit it!"  
  
Now was the time, Auron thought, he could delay it no longer. He turned to his left side in the old habit of training his good eye on his intended target. "I go alone. The Ronso wait to assist, and there is no sense in risking more than one of us. Your place is here, with your family."  
  
"Out of the question!" Braska replied indignantly.  
  
What about us? Isabo wanted to scream at him. Don't we count? She understood how important this was, but it had finally sunk in. He was ready and willing to sacrifice himself -- he had every intention of being a hero. Okay fine then, but he wouldn't do it without her -- she'd rather face whatever awaited in that cave than an eternity without him. She was going, and not even that glorious temper of his would stop her.  
  
"It's all unnecessary," Tanar said blandly, his eyes coming back into focus.  
  
Jecht cut the air with his hand. "Bullshit! I'm not letting you go up there by yourself and grab all the glory!"  
  
Tanar held up a finger. "Are you listening? I said..."  
  
Auron took a step forward. "Glory has nothing to do with it you fool! Allow me to explain it in small terms you'll...."  
  
"Silence!" Tanar boomed at the top his lungs. Grahl's ears flattened against his head -- his sensitive hearing abused by the volume.  
  
Auron and Jecht, who were now nose to nose, fell quiet and turned.  
  
"The boy who travels with the Fayth has found a way. He managed it on his own before he was forced to leave. Those trapped in the cave have been freed and returned to where they belong, there is no necessity for further action."  
  
Jecht exhaled crudely. "What the hell are you talkin' about? What boy?"  
  
Tanar looked to Auron. "He may not be of your flesh, but he has grown from your side. He lives, and like the warrior who trained him, he will help protect Spira in its time of coming need. His children, and his children's children will know your name."  
  
Auron turned and stepped to the window -- to look out across the Farplane. "Remie."  
  
Dwen winced when Isabo squeezed her hand hard enough to grind her fingers together, and then Isabo released her grip and brought her hands to her temples, her eyes widening before crossing the room to Auron's side. "The boy. The voice. It was someone you knew..." she trailed off, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Yes! Now I remember. He helped me to reach you, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Remie." Then she placed a hand against Auron's cheek. "He is so proud to have called you friend and admires you a great deal. Remie loves you, Auron. He loves you very much, as do I."  
  
Auron brought a hand up and hastily wiped it across his brow, clearing his throat, and then he whirled and strode through the front door.  
  
Braska and Jecht exchanged a look, and then headed after him.  
  
Auron was sitting on the bench, glasses dangling from one hand -- gazing at the sunset, his face static.  
  
Jecht and Braska sat flanking him -- the legend's sitting shoulder to shoulder in silence.  
  
Finally, Braska spoke. "You all right?"  
  
Auron didn't turn his head from the view. "Yeah. It just caught me off-guard."  
  
Jecht pressed his hands against his face in mock horror. "Sir Auron caught off-guard. It's all over folks! The world's coming to an end!"  
  
His head still didn't move, but a smirk curved Auron's lips. "Bite me."  
  
Jecht laughed and slapped Auron on the back. "There's hope for you yet, Auron." Then Jecht snapped his fingers and straightened one leg out in front of him to reach into his pocket. "Damn! I almost forgot. I snagged these off an old guy in the village just before we left. They're strictly home-jobbers, but the 'ol geezer knows what he's doin' they're wrapped nice and tight," Jecht finished, as he held up three cigars -- staring at them like a gift beyond worth.  
  
Braska and Auron looked at one another and then shrugged in unison, their body language clearly asking -- why not? Braska examined the brown digit poised between his fingers for a moment, before looking back to Jecht for instructions.  
  
Grinning widely, Jecht was only too happy to have center-stage as he solemnly explained... "First, ya gotta snip the end off, then you light it by drawing air through your mouth, but not very far... don't pull it all the way down into your lungs, or you'll puke fer sure."  
  
"Sounds delightful," Braska said warily, suddenly looking at the cigar like it was about to bite his nose off.  
  
Auron chuckled at that as he bent over and drew the dirk from his boot, expertly flipping it in his hand to offer the haft to Jecht. "Age before beauty."  
  
Jecht chuffed and grabbed the weapon, then pushed the end of the cigar against its blade edge with his thumb. A small portion was cleanly sliced, Jecht's foot flashing up to kick the cigar-end away from him before it hit the deck planks -- the stub arching out to disappear into the long grass below.  
  
"If that last part's a requirement, I'm in deep trouble," Braska said with a laugh.  
  
"Here, I'll do the honors, Braska, you just rustle-up some fire," Jecht offered, taking the cigars from the two men and repeating his previous performance before handing them back.  
  
"Well, it's been awhile since I've executed this little parlor-trick, but..." Braska said, holding his index finger straight up from his hand. A reddish glow emitted from his palm for a moment, and then a steady flame shot up from his fingertip in a miniature fire spell.  
  
"Perfect," Auron said, clamping the cigar between his teeth and leaning forward, his cheeks hollowing as he lit the tip. Then he lifted his chin and blew a stream of pungent smoke into the air. "I've always wanted to try this... I rather like it," Auron remarked, leaning back against the side of the cabin and crossing his legs at the ankles, watching while Braska lit Jecht's cigar.  
  
"Yup, there's nothin' like a good stogie," Jecht agreed with a smoldering sigh.  
  
Auron chuckled. "You remind me of someone else I knew from Zanarkand. Pity you two couldn't meet, I think you'd like one another."  
  
"Yeah? Was he a Blitzer?" Jecht asked, straightening up to look at Auron intently, his interest piqued by the mention of his beloved city.  
  
"No, but like you, larger-than-life and wholly likeable despite himself."  
  
Jecht made a rude noise from around his cigar and sank back against the wall. "Has anybody ever explained that your stories suck?"  
  
"That would be your son, on several occasions," Auron said, then nonchalantly reached over to pound Braska on the back, as the mage had yanked his cigar from between his teeth and lurched forward, gagging in a cloud of smoke. "Perhaps you should reconsider, Braska."  
  
"Sound advice," Braska replied shakily, then doubled-over in another coughing fit.  
  
"Hot-damn, more for me," Jecht said, unsympathetically snatching the un-puffed remains of Braska's cigar from his hand.  
  
Auron gave Jecht a withering look, then glanced sideways at Braska -- covertly making sure he was okay without embarrassing him further, watching as the man wiped at his eyes and straightened. Satisfied his friend had survived the ill-fated attempt at cigar smoking, Auron returned his attention to the sunset.  
  
He thought about the winding path of his journey, the legacy he had created along the way, and about his partner in the house behind him, then corrected himself...  
  
Not a house, but a home. His home. Their home.  
  
Braska watched a large smile light up Auron's features that seemed to him the most beautiful he had ever seen on that countenance.  
  
A smile of belonging. A smile of love. A smile of peace.  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Tanar and Grahl were the last to leave, Auron and Isabo standing at the front door with their arms around each other's waists as they saw them off.  
  
"By the way, I like what you've done here," Tanar said, looking around the cabin.  
  
"And just what constitutes your frame of reference?" Auron asked.  
  
Tanar chuckled. "I built this place."  
  
Auron grunted. "I should have guessed."  
  
"Perhaps there were more important matters on your mind," Tanar offered slyly.  
  
"Perhaps," Auron replied, hugging Isabo against his side.  
  
"Before I go one more thing, call it a housewarming gift if you like," Tanar mumbled, pointing at a bag stashed in the corner -- Grahl bending over to retrieve it for him. "Here," Tanar said gruffly, holding the box out to Isabo with stiff arms -- doing his best to maintain his reputation as a codger.  
  
Isabo gasped when she opened the box, and then handed it to Auron. "Oh, Tanar!"  
  
It was a chess set carved from ebony and ash -- the pieces perfect replicas of Spira's inhabitants. A Summoner as King, the Queen disturbingly reminiscent of Yunalesca, the Bishops represented by Yevon Priests, Crusaders on Chocobo as Knights, Temples for the Rooks, and finally, Warrior Monks as Pawns, which Auron thought particularly fitting.  
  
Auron studied Tanar's face. "How did you..." then swiped a hand in the air, "nevermind."  
  
"This... this is incredible, it's exquisite," Isabo said in appreciation, then stepped forward and kissed Tanar's grizzled cheek.  
  
"Well... I... uh..." Tanar fumbled, looking down at his lap, then snapped his head up to glare at Grahl, who had begun to chuckle.  
  
Auron was tempted to chuckle himself, but held it in. "I don't know how to thank you for something as fine as this."  
  
Tanar huffed and waved a gnarled hand in the air dismissively, then a boyish grin flashed across his face -- the expression out of place on his gruff old features. "I don't want anything from you, Auron, but I wouldn't mind another kiss from the young lady," he said, tapping a finger against his cheek. "Let's make it a matching set, shall we?"  
  
Isabo laughed as she grasped Tanar's face in both hands, planted quick kisses on each cheek, then went the extra mile and pressed a good one against Tanar's lips.  
  
His eyes twinkling, Tanar said somewhat breathlessly, "That's not all we've been working on. Take it away it, Grahl."  
  
Grahl straightened and recited an obvious rehearsed speech in a flat voice. "Tanar is a big pain in Grahl's hairy ass, but Grahl puts up with him anyway."  
  
"Well done," Tanar said in approval.  
  
"Outstanding," Auron moaned. How did he get himself into these relationships? Was it too much to ask for a little normalcy once in awhile?  
  
---------------------------------  
  
Late that night, they had their first game. Auron resigned after ten moves -- but it wasn't because he had lost. 


	20. Epilogue

Eterna: Epilogue   
-----------------------------------  
  
When had he last done this? Moving through the kata for the simple pleasure of it, rather than the need to train. He couldn't recall. It mattered not. He was here, doing it now -- with a depth of freedom he had never known before. He began a new set -- the forms now more difficult as he felt his mind let go and his muscles stretch with the heightened movement. He pushed himself as he went into a lower and wider stance -- the muscles of his thighs feeling the burn, then he made the turn into the next form.  
  
His eyes passed the deck as his head came around and he saw Isabo watching him from the steps. I'm out of practice, he thought. He hadn't heard her approach. He drew a deep breath and tried to regain his previous momentum, but was unable to when he contemplated what was in her eyes -- that hungry look -- the same one he had seen that first night in the loft. That thought dissolved his concentration like boiling water poured over sugar and he had to put his arms out, suddenly off-balance. He sighed and turned to face her -- his arms and torso glowing in a light sheen of sweat. Then he flicked a hand forward and scowled, his lips forming the silent words, 'Go away.'  
  
A wicked grin spread across Isabo's face as she raised her arms up in a 'who me?' gesture.  
  
Auron surprised her with a wink. "Something must be done about your overly aggressive tendencies, Milady. I trust you have no aversion to grass stains."  
  
Isabo shrugged off his teasing, a lilt in her voice he had never heard before and her question indicating there was more to her desire than he thought. "What does it feel like, to move like that?"  
  
Auron scratched his chin. "It feels... liberating."  
  
Isabo just smiled her understanding. It was the same way she felt when painting.  
  
"Would you care to try?" Auron asked, holding an arm out from his side.  
  
"Me?" She asked in complete incredulity, "two left feet Isabo? I don't think so." Then she smiled -- an Isabo smile, but a little sad too. "I'm going to wash some clothes, is there anything of yours besides what's in the hamper?"  
  
Auron shook his head no.  
  
She almost had the door closed behind her when he called her name -- in that way that made her stomach flutter. She turned to look back at him with the soft command that came next.  
  
"Come here to me."  
  
"Closer."  
  
"Place your feet on mine."  
  
"Like this?"  
  
"Yes, that's fine. Now, your hands here, and your arms..."  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Ready."  
  
Auron began to move.  
  
He kept it simple and deliberately slow -- letting her grow accustom to the dance of death turned to one of bonding as he led her in growing circles across the green hill above the Farplane. Above all care for anything save this. He could feel a stiffness in her posture that wasn't allowing her to fully participate -- she was trying too hard.  
  
"Breathe," Auron instructed, "and just relax, I have you."  
  
Isabo took heed with perfect trust -- a long, slow exhale as her body molded against his. Auron brought a hand to the small of her back and took them through a more complex series of movements and then a fast turn. There should be music to accompany them, he thought, and then realized there was -- the beating of their hearts. He stole a glance down. Her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted -- a beautiful ecstasy on her face that went beyond the mere carnal, and it had been he that had taken her there. The way that made him feel far exceeded any prowess he had ever gained as a warrior.  
  
"Now you tell me," Auron said, his voice rumbling into her, "how does it feel to move like this?"  
  
"I think it must be how the whales felt when they flew into the sky. Free. Free and full of joy at being together like that. As one."  
  
"Yes," Auron agreed, and then he spoke again -- so deep and low that she felt the words become a part of her.   
  
"For what was, for what is and will be, for what there is always hope for -- I love you, My Isabo." 


End file.
